


Shelter from the Storm

by AnotherTakenUsername



Category: Frostpunk (Video Game), Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Logistics, Making It Up As We Go Along, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ultra Depression, Winterhome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherTakenUsername/pseuds/AnotherTakenUsername
Summary: As their Generator malfunctions and fails, the city of Winterhome finds itself in dire straits. Alone in the Frostlands, and with nowhere to escape to, the death of the city is all but guaranteed.However, a chance discovery by a scout team offers a new hope; a massive cavern, with breathable air, fresh water, and protection from the cold. Left with no other options, the city begins to evacuate, hoping that they have finally found their shelter from the storm.Unfortunately for the survivors of Winterhome, their newfound refuge is far from the safe harbor they had prayed for. Trapped in an unfamiliar kingdom, and with temperatures on the surface plummeting, the Captain finds himself caught between the whims of Higher Beings and the encroaching Great Frost.
Comments: 29
Kudos: 88





	1. Newfound Hope

Albert truly despised the Frostlands.

The frigid wastes around Winterhome were devoid of nearly any distinguishing features, save for a few jagged, icy crags sticking out of the ground. Snowdrifts shifted and moved daily, shaping the landscape like the now-mythical Sahara, forcing scout teams to either trudge through several feet of snow or attempt to find purchase on the underlying ice to advance. Shrill winds hounded them at every step, robbing them of breath and forcing them to bundle up in the thickest clothes they could find.

It was hell on Earth, and they still had another mile to walk before they reached their destination.

“Are you sure we should keep going, Albert? The wind’s starting to pick up,” Charles called out, his voice muffled by the woolen scarf wrapped around his mouth.

“We’ll keep going until we reach that cave. After that, we’ll rest,” Albert said, trying to ignore the numbness creeping into his limbs. They had already been travelling for several hours that day, hoping to reach shelter before setting up their next camp. With luck, the cave would provide enough protection for them to sleep. After that, there was simply the long trek back to Winterhome, dragging the scant supplies they had found thus far home.

Albert wasn’t entirely certain why he had been picked for the scouting teams. Most of his outdoorsman experiences had been as a lad, going on a few camping trips with his brother in the nearby woods. His subsequent career as a clerk had hardly required him to make trips more strenuous than walks to the pub.

Maybe he was chosen for the role simply because he was still alive. The fires from the uprising hadn’t discriminated between the innocent and the guilty, and the final death toll had been abhorrent. The city needed as many working hands as it could get if it was to recover and endure.

For now, if his purpose was to traverse the Frostlands, he would do so. He owed the Captain that much for freeing the city, even if it was ultimately a doomed venture.

It would have been easier if either of his companions had experience, but, sadly, that was not to be. Charles had been a miner before the uprising, while Davis had been a line cook. Neither of them had set foot outside of Winterhome since the journey to get there, but with the manpower shortages…

Well, Albert was just glad to have someone watching his back.

Their seemingly endless trek continued, with the only sounds being the howling winds and the crunching ice underfoot. Albert took the lead, scanning the horizon with frost-coated binoculars and a long-outdated map. Charles and Davis lagged behind, pulling along their supply sled with all the strength they had.

By the time they reached their destination, the sun had nearly set. The dim, vague glow from the horizon was barely visible through the clouds and snowstorms, forcing them to break out the arc lanterns. Even then, with how poor the visibility was, they nearly walked past the mouth of the cave.

The cavern entrance looked just as foreboding as it had several hours ago, barely visible through his frost-coated binoculars. Thick sheets of ice surrounded the entrance, leaving massive icicles hanging from the roof. The lack of visibility and the poor terrain made each of the men reach for their pistols. None of them wanted to fall victim to another bear attack. Raising his weapon and arc lantern, Albert went in first, scanning the area for signs of movement.

Immediately, several items caught Albert’s attention. For one thing, the cave was far larger than he had expected. Far from the small, cramped holes they’d encountered previously, this cave was rather spacious, with enough room to easily fit a dozen people. Their lanterns offered just enough light to make out the corners of the room, with small, smooth outcroppings jutting out from the walls.

However, there was one thing that caught Albert’s attention above all else: it was _warm_.

Not warm like the shacks and hovels of Winterhome, with hastily plugged gaps and half-mended holes in the walls letting in the cold. Not warm like the exterior of the Generator, which, for all its might, still could not bring the surrounding temperature above freezing.

The cavern was warm like Bristol before the frosts. Like how a spring day ought to have felt, instead of the madness outside.

Albert could feel the warmth flow over him, letting his limbs recover in stinging needles and pricks as the frost melted from his clothes. Nearby, Charles and Davis were doing the same, marveling at the fact that they could no longer see their own breath frost over. Charles had even gone so far as to take his gloves off, the mad bastard.

 _There must be something heating this cavern. Some sort of geothermal vent, perhaps?_ Albert thought, frowning. That was the only explanation he could think of, given the rushed and half-hearted training he had received for this job. It may not be close enough to help Winterhome, but a natural source of steam and heat could, Lord willing, keep a small number of people from freezing to death. Maybe they could turn it into an emergency shelter, given enough time and preparations. Not enough room to save everyone, but if even a few could survive…

Albert shook his head, trying to rid himself of such fanciful thoughts. As if Winterhome had the resources to set something like that up when they were still tearing down the scorched ruins of half the city.

Still, it was certainly a comfortable place for a short rest. The cavern was already protected from the winds and snowfall by the narrow entrance and rocky overhangs, and the immediate area appeared to be free of wildlife. At least, it looked that way with what little tracking experience he had earned during the past few weeks. He couldn't make out any of the usual signs of inhabitation, such as bones, droppings, or tracks.

“Charles, break out the wireless and send a report back. There’s nothing here,” Albert said, holstering his pistol.

Charles glanced over at Albert in disbelief. “Nothing here? Are you serious? What about the temperature?”

“Not good enough,” Albert replied, shaking his head. “If it’s not something we can take back home with us, it’s worthless.”

Charles frowned, but, thankfully, did not take the issue further. He simply glanced over at Davis, scoffed, and returned to the sled. Davis, for his part, continued to sort through his pack, ignoring the rest of them like the good Londoner he once was.

While Charles worked on setting up the clunky, battered radio system, Albert and Davis got to work on the camp. A few scraps of wood were quickly turned into a fire, fending off the last vestiges of cold from the air. Davis opened up his pack, taking out some smoked venison to cook, while Albert prepared his bedroll.

In some ways, it felt like just another one of those camping trips from a lifetime ago.

_If only you were here to enjoy it, James. Lord knows you’d make better company than this lot._

…He shouldn’t bring up those memories. The world was already depressing enough without thinking about the past. Besides, the others weren’t completely useless. _He_ certainly wouldn’t want to be the one dragging the sled around.

While he mused about his circumstances, trying to find something positive to think about, his hand bumped into something. At first glance, it looked like any one of the countless stones that littered the cavern floor. However, as he reached over to move it, Albert noticed another detail: someone had carved it.

Picking the stone up gingerly, Albert tried to make out what the carvings were supposed to be. The stone figure was roughly etched, shaped broadly like a cross, with deep lines spreading out from the center towards the prongs. A small, near-featureless face resided in the top-center, with only a pair of small divots noticeable.

 _What is this? Some sort of symbol?_ Albert wondered. It could be a sign that someone else was living here, but as he looked around, he couldn’t make out anything else. Perhaps some poor soul had carved it while waiting for the storms to clear out and left it behind afterwards.

“Meal’s ready. Get your fill.”

At any rate, he had more pressing matters to concern himself with. He could have eaten a horse if they hadn’t all died off from the cold already. Opening his pack, Albert placed the figure inside before heading to the campfire.

As usual, the game was tough and unseasoned. Still, warm meat was one of the few luxuries they could have these days, and the three indulged wholeheartedly. A few half-hearted attempts at small talk were made, but for the most part, the focus was on the food. By the time his plate was cleaned, Albert had already forgotten about the strange totem in his pack.

The rest of the evening went by quickly. Besides a quick response from Winterhome, acknowledging their report and travel plans, nothing of note happened. After a day’s march through the Frostlands, nobody had the energy for anything more than their evening prayers. It was a blessing to finally crawl into their bedrolls, letting the warmth settle over them.

Feeling his eyes leaden, Albert slowly gave in to his exhaustion, drifting off to sleep-

* * *

_-and waking up once more._

_Immediately, the change in scenery caught his eye. Instead of the smooth, dark stone of the cavern, he was met with the sight of a well-furnished room. The walls were intact and covered in paper. Electric bulbs offered a comforting glow, illuminating the room in a light tinge of orange._

_…It was his apartment. The same one he had abandoned so long ago, all the way back in Bristol._

_As Albert rose from his bed, blinking away his exhaustion, he began to make out more details. His desk was still covered in half-finished forms and requisitions, his coat draped over the nearby chair. A handful of books were left on the coffee table, all lent to him by James. Thick, plain rugs covered the floors, bought when he had first moved in to cover the cold hardwood._

_It was as if the world hadn’t frozen over._

_But none of this was real. It couldn’t be. Bristol had fallen to the Great Frost months ago. He had barely escaped the city with the last Dreadnoughts. What was…_

_Albert sighed, rubbing his eyes. It had to be a dream. Perhaps his mind was still stuck on all that reminiscing from before, and needed to work its way through every painful detail. As if he hadn’t dealt with enough trauma already._

_But this wasn’t like the nightmares he’d suffered from after the Frost started, or after the uprising. If anything, he felt more comfortable now than he’d felt all year. Warmth filled the room, giving with it a sense of hope that he’d long since abandoned._

_“I wonder how far this dream goes,” Albert muttered. If he opened the window, would the rest of the city look how it used to? Or would it be caught in the middle of the Great Frost, with factories and homes buried by the rising snow?_

_God, he hoped for the former. It had been so, so long since he’d seen a living plant outside of a hothouse. He’d give anything just to be able to walk in a park, even if none of it was real._

_Slowly, almost reluctantly, Albert crossed the room, trying to ignore the achingly familiar creak of the floorboards beneath him. Sunlight streamed through the window curtains, giving him a cautious sense of hope. Gently, he pulled open the drapes-_

_…Where was Bristol?_

_The familiar rooftops and smokestacks of the city were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the entire landscape was nothing but swirling, golden clouds and massive pillars of dark marble. All of it was lit up by the distant sun, with a vibrancy that would have burned Albert’s eyes if not for the cloud cover._

_Albert sighed, leaning on the windowsill. “Guess going outside was too much to ask.”_

_As he said that, Albert heard something off in the distance. He couldn’t quite make it out; the only thing he could determine was the intensity. The sound was like the immense roar of the Generator, or the constant clamor of Bristol’s shipyards; the noise of something massive, almost beyond comprehension._

_He tried to peer further out the window, looking for the source of the noise. At first, everything appeared to be the same. However, there were small, almost imperceptible changes. The clouds were swirling more violently than before, the sun was moving closer-_

_…That was no sun._

_As the sharp, radiant light in the distance grew nearer, its shape began to morph. No longer a featureless sphere, Albert could see great, innumerable tendrils of light connected to its core, tangling and shifting as it moved. His hands flew up to cover his eyes instinctually as the light grew brighter and brighter, quick glimpses at the being leaving him half-blinded._

_Albert backed up, fumbling in panic at the presence approaching him. He opened his mouth, trying to make sense of such a strange figure-_

* * *

-only for his head to snap back, sending him stumbling on his feet. The all-encompassing warmth vanished, replaced with a sharp, stinging pain on his cheek. Glancing back, Albert saw Charles standing nearby, hand raised and scowling.

“What was _that_ for?” Albert cried, clutching his face. Had Charles just _punched_ him?

“It’s your own fault! You were fucking _sleepwalking_! I tried to stop you, but you just kept going, and going…Christ,” Charles sighed. “How can you walk so fast when you’re not even conscious?”

“Practice,” Albert spat out, rubbing his jaw. “Did you really need to punch me that hard?”

“Oh, sod off. It was just a slap,” Charles scoffed. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it? You’re awake now.”

“With a broken jaw. Bloody hell…” Albert muttered, glancing around. Where was Davis in all of this, anyway? Surely he’d have said something…

_…Wait, where are we? Where’s the cave entrance?_

Instead of the relatively open cavern they had set up camp in, they had somehow ended up in a cramped, sloped passageway. There was barely enough room for the two of them to stand together, and even then, only by leaning back against the walls. Charles’s lantern offered the only illumination, casting the rough walls in harsh shadows.

“Finally noticed where we are, have you?” Charles asked, crossing his arms. “Don’t know how, but you found a side tunnel. We must be at least a hundred feet below by now. Good thing I saw you, or nobody would’ve known where you went.”

“…How did we miss this?” Albert asked, glancing back and forth. None of it made any sense. How would he have just stumbled upon something like this? And so quickly, too? He hadn’t been asleep for that long. He had barely even started dreaming about…

What had he been dreaming about, anyways? Why couldn’t he remember?

“It was hidden behind a stalagmite. If you hadn’t gone and stumbled into it, I doubt we would’ve found this tunnel,” Charles said, interrupting Albert’s thoughts. “Thank God it didn’t branch off.”

“What? What do you mean?” Albert asked, trying to ignore the dull, throbbing pain in his skull. Like hell was that just a slap.

“You go down the wrong path in a place like this, you’re not coming back out. Simple as that,” Charles said. “If you’re lucky, it’ll be bad air that gets you.”

“…And if you’re not lucky?” Albert asked, shuddering involuntarily.

“Too many options to count. Come on, let’s get going back. We’ve been lucky enough to have clean air all the way down here, but that probably won’t last much longer,” Charles said, turning back towards the surface.

Suddenly, a memory forced its way into Albert’s mind. “W-wait. There might be people down here. Possibly. I found this back in the entrance,” Albert said, reaching into his pack. He hastily pulled out the stone carving, presenting it to Charles.

Charles stared at the idol, frown slowly deepening in fury. “So you found this, and you didn’t say _anything_ about it?” He growled.

“If we’d found any other clues that survivors were around, I would have. But there weren’t. You were looking up there too, and you didn’t find anything!” Albert argued. It was a weak argument, admittedly, but the others were hardly blameless.

Charles sighed, rubbing his face. After a long moment, he turned back towards Albert. “Fine. We’ll go deeper. But if either of us start feeling lightheaded, or short of breath, we leave then and there.”

Albert nodded. His curiosity may be getting the better of him, but he wasn’t willing to die for it.

They turned towards the lower tunnel, descending further underground. The uneven, rough terrain made it difficult to walk, the dim light masking any obstacles in thick darkness. Both men moved slowly, their attentions focused on the air they breathed.

As such, they quickly became aware of a new fact: there was a breeze coming from the lower end of the tunnel. One that was blowing towards them.

“…Could be a good sign…but where is it coming from?” Charles muttered. “Can’t be another entrance this far below.”

Albert stayed quiet, uncertain himself. The tunnel continued downwards, gradually leveling out as they moved forwards. After several minutes, the tunnel leveled out completely, tapering off right as they reached another opening. Readying the lantern, the two men stepped forwards-

“…my _God_.”

And found themselves facing the ruins of a massive settlement, in the center of an immense cavern. Countless tents and lean-tos filled the area, with faded canvas and rugs making up the walls of homes in a veritable rainbow of colors. The sheer number of homes would have been enough to fit an entire village before the frosts. Small glass jars hung from poles, filled with some sort of pale, illuminating substance he couldn’t quite make out.

Off to one side of the cavern, a large stream flowed from one end to the other, filling the air with the sound of rushing water. Thick bundles of tall grasses lined the bank, heedless of the fact there was no sun to sustain them. The cavern roof wasn’t even discernable, with the light of Charles’s arc lantern unable to reach the ceiling. Throughout it all, a light, warm breeze flowed through the area, circulating the air and keeping the temperature warm.

It was a natural bunker. Impervious to the Great Frost, well-prepared with housing and water, and with natural ventilation. No wonder so many people had set up their homes here. Even without the sky to offer illumination, this place was already more comfortable than the deteriorating conditions of Winterhome.

“…What is this place?” Charles muttered, stepping forwards.

“A tent city? Could be more refugees from the mainland,” Albert replied. Lord only knew how many people must have fled the Isles by the time it all collapsed. It was possible that these people had tried to follow the paths in the ice left by the Dreadnoughts, only to stumble upon the caverns along the way.

“Shouldn’t there have been tracks in the entrance? There’s no way you could drag all this stuff down that tunnel without leaving a trail,” Charles said.

“They must have gotten in through another cave,” Albert said. With the dozens of feet of ice and snow accumulated up above, it would be easy for another cavern to be buried and hidden.

Minutes passed by wordlessly as they wandered through the tents, looking for any signs of life. Surely with a settlement this size, there had to be at least some sign of who lived here. Documents, ruins, bodies… _something_ , surely.

And yet, despite an exhaustive search, they couldn’t find a single trace of what happened to the original inhabitants. All they could infer was that they left suddenly, and that was only a guess based on the interiors of the tents. Most of their contents were scattered and disorganized, with rugs, pillows, and other belongings thrown about.

Stranger still, many of the tools and furniture they discovered were unfamiliar, or oddly primitive. There were no arc lanterns, wooden crates, stockpiles of tinned cans or spare clothes. Very few of the tools they uncovered were even made out of steel, with most being made out of carved stone or scraps of wood.

“…I don’t like this,” Charles muttered, crawling out of yet another empty home. “Feels like we’re walking through a graveyard.”

“Maybe they didn’t die. We haven’t found any bodies,” Albert said.

“Then where the hell is everyone? Who would just go and leave all this behind?” Charles asked, gesturing to their abandoned surroundings. “Shit, there must be enough supplies here to set up another city.”

“Maybe they went further in? This place is certainly big enough for them to go deeper,” Albert shrugged.

Charles shook his head. “I still don’t like it. Towns aren’t meant to be underground. Just feels…off.”

Albert scoffed. Towns weren’t meant to have factory-sized furnaces in the center of them either, but nature had forced their hand. Without access to a Generator site, anyone left would no doubt use whatever they could find.

But Albert couldn’t ignore Charles’s point. Sheltered or not, something had caused everyone to flee. Who was to say that it wouldn’t happen again? Or if the people that had lived here wouldn’t come back?

…Did either of those questions even matter at this point?

A discovery like this would have been noteworthy even before the Great Frost. An underground cave system this massive, with flowing water moving throughout it, would have been a tremendous thing to study and explore.

Now, though, it represented something even bigger. Clean, fresh water. Breathable air. Living space that was free from the cold, with enough room to fit hundreds of people.

Enough room for an entire city, potentially.

It could be another disaster just waiting to rear its head. It could also be their only hope of surviving the seemingly endless winter. Ultimately, it was the Captain’s decision, but given the deteriorating conditions in the city…

Albert turned back towards Charles. “We need to get back to the entrance. Winterhome must know about this place.”

The former miner hesitated, glancing back and forth between Albert and the ruins, before moving off. Albert couldn’t completely blame him for his hesitation. It would be prudent to look through the rest of the ruins and search for survivors, or at least traces of who built this settlement.

But the Generator was failing. Every minute counted, and the discovery of a safe home for Winterhome’s citizens was exactly the miracle the city needed. Even if it was temporary, even if only a fraction of their people could survive, at least _something_ would endure.

Albert turned around and moved back towards the tunnel, still unconsciously holding onto the forgotten stone idol in his pack.


	2. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Captain deals with Winterhome's reaction to the discovery, Albert continues to try and make sense of the cavern, and the Radiance is curious.

The news of the cavern spread through Winterhome like venereal disease through the pleasure house; swiftly and eagerly.

For the first time since the Generator began to fail, the inhabitants of the city had something to feel happy about. They weren’t doomed to die in the cold, there _was_ somewhere for them to escape to! Crowds filled the streets, screaming, cheering, and embracing each other at random, celebrating their salvation. Hope filled the faces of the infirm, the young, and the desperate alike.

And yet, with new hope came even greater desperation. Where some groups cheered and celebrated the discovery of the cavern, others demanded that they and their families get sent there first. Wild rumors and speculation abounded about the riches of the cavern and the failing state of the Generator, fueling discontent and forcing the priests and foremen to keep the peace.

For Captain Edmond Cole, it wasn’t quite what he had been hoping for when he made the announcement. All he had wanted to do was raise the city’s spirits, to give them something back after all the hardships they had suffered through. Unfortunately, it seemed that, as with so many other decisions before, the consequences were mixed. Even now, he could hear the cheers and jeers from outside, muffled by the windows.

Edmond sighed, leaning back in his chair. The old leather creaked under his weight, a welcome cushion against the weight of the city’s needs. It was a miracle he had been able to snatch it from his old workshop before someone else had claimed it.

If only the view of his desk could be so comforting. Scattered forms covered the piece of oak like fresh snow on a rooftop, with requests from all over the city to consider. The medical wards needed more beds, medicine, and personnel. The workshops needed more components, steel, steam cores, and personnel. The mines needed more picks, explosives, and personnel-

Edmond groaned, rubbing his temples. Where did they expect him to find all of these workers? Winterhome needed as many hands as it could get just to tear down and rebuild the ruins of the Southern and Eastern quarters. It was bad enough that they were using children to haul coal, timber, and food around the city, and like hell was he going to subject them to more dangerous work.

And now, with the preliminary stages of the evacuation to plan out, those shortages would only get more severe. The scout report had been promising, mentioning that tents and other dwellings were already set up, but that was just one factor to consider. The new site would need stockpiles of food, coal, steel, and lumber to properly winterproof it. Not to mention weapons and munitions for hunting parties, radio antennas so they could keep in contact with the outposts, mining equipment to expand and reinforce the tunnels-

_Lord, give me strength. I beg of you. At this rate, the logistics will kill me before the cold,_ Edmond thought.

“Is everything alright, sir?”

The sudden question caught Edmond off-guard. Turning to face his guest, Edmond tried to put on a welcoming expression. “Y-yes, yes. Just trying to work through more of these requests. Is everything alright?”

His visitor, Denise Hayes, scoffed at that comment, fixing Edmond with a reproachful look. “You’ve been staring at those papers for the past ten minutes. The city won’t collapse if you give yourself a moment to breathe.”

“It may if I take more than one,” Edmond said. He certainly didn’t want to follow in the Major’s footsteps and push everything off until the last moment.

But he knew better than to ignore Denise’s advice. They’d worked together in the old workshop for long enough to know each other’s tells, back before the night of flames and terror. The work may have changed, but the workload certainly hadn’t.

“At any rate, you’ll have to wait an hour or two longer before you can rest. The new weather reports have just arrived,” Denise continued, moving towards the guest chair. “It seems that another cold front will be approaching us within a few days.”

“Of course,” Edmond groaned. That was poor timing. The temperature was already forty below freezing. If it dropped much further, they may not be able to risk sending people out on expeditions at all without them catching frostbite. Not to mention the extra strain the Generator would suffer from trying to compensate for the cold. Lord help them if another malfunction occurred.

_At least we’ve finished rebuilding most of the shelters,_ Edmond mused. _That should help lower the number of frostbite cases. Hopefully the wards have enough room for the rest._

“Scout team three also arrived back today. According to them, the visibility is too poor to find anything else out to the northeast,” Denise continued. “They brought back some furs and timber, although not much.”

“That could work out for us,” Edmond considered. More hands were always useful, and they would need a scout team to lead people to the cavern. “How long will it take them to prepare for another expedition?”

“A few hours to gather more provisions and restock on ammunition.”

“Excellent. As soon as they’ve recovered, have them get ready to move towards the evacuation site. We also need to organize a few volunteers to go with them,” Edmond said. “The sooner we prepare that site for the evacuation, the better.”

“Any specific requirements, sir?”

“No more than three dozen people. And try to get them from the mines, if possible. It’d be best if they’re already used to working underground.”

“Understood. I’ll prepare a caravan as soon as possible,” Denise said, sliding over more papers across the desk. “In the meantime, I also have more reports on the excavations and demolitions. At the current rate, we should be finished in around two weeks.”

That was better than he had anticipated. With how much of the city had burned down, he’d half expected there to still be burning timbers left by the time they had evacuated. “Any word on survivors?”

Denise shook her head. “Unfortunately not. We’re praying for the best, but if there is anyone else left in the rubble, we might not get to them in time. Almost certainly not before the temperature drop.”

Edmond sighed. “…Regretful, but not unexpected. I’ll talk with the priests later. Maybe we can set up a vigil for the missing.” Lord willing, they could find any remaining survivors before it was too late. If not, at least their families could find some comfort in the service.

“I’m sure everyone will appreciate that,” Denise said. “Besides that, I don’t have much new to report. Production of the core four is continuing according to plan, although we may need to put the coal miners on overtime. The Generator’s been using more fuel than it should.”

_That_ was concerning news. Shifting coal consumption rates could be an indication of another malfunction. He’d have to get in touch with the repair station. If the Generator was about to break down again, they’d need all available hands to patch it up.

_We can’t let it fail until the evacuation is complete. The steam must flow, no matter the cost._

Nodding, Edmond picked up the papers. “Thank you for the updates. I’ll look over the new reports as soon as I can.”

“Just make sure you don’t kill yourself checking over everything. We can’t just pull a new Captain out of our hats,” Denise said, standing up.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want this job,” Edmond joked. Denise didn’t respond, simply walking out towards the hallway. Her footsteps gradually grew softer, until the only sounds Edmond could make out were the howling winds from outside and the faint hum of his office’s radiator.

The quiet was always so strange. His office in the workshop had always been filled with the sounds of hissing steam, clanging steel, and his coworkers arguing over new sets of blueprints. Compared to that, his new workstation always felt so…silent. Aloof. Separate from the rest of the city.

No wonder the Major had gone mad, if this was his only view of the world.

The irony of using the old tyrant’s headquarters as his own was not lost on Edmond. However, even with the implications of using it, the old military outpost was still the best building to coordinate the affairs of Winterhome from. Its central location, proximity to the Generator, and inbuilt communications equipment made it an invaluable administrative center. They couldn’t afford to tear it down, no matter how badly they wanted to.

All they could do was remove the traces of the old regime and try to start over. Banners had been torn down, posters had been ripped apart, and propaganda had been painted over, leaving the building a barren, if functional, shell. A place for work, and nothing more.

He wouldn’t commit the same errors as that tyrant. He couldn’t. There was no one left in the mainland to turn to, no other cities to seek refuge in. All that they had left was their faith, their city, and the cavern, and if he didn’t do his job, the first two would fail long before they could count on the third.

Looking back towards the piles of reports, Edmond steeled himself, readjusting his glasses and grabbing a pen. Rest could wait until after his work had been completed. The evacuation would be successful. His people would be saved.

The city would survive.

* * *

The first column arrived at the cavern two days after the initial discovery.

It was a modest group, with around two dozen workers, a handful of engineers, and several sleds of equipment and materials. Thankfully, the group reported that there had been no casualties or accidents on the way over. Their timing was lucky: if they had waited another day, they would have been caught in the middle of a storm.

With fresh supplies and more workers, the Captain’s plans were put into action. Several men went to work on the surface, preparing more robust communications equipment and building an antechamber around the cavern entrance. Wooden planks and steel plates were placed around the gap, further protecting the interior from the cold.

Further underground, the remainder of the workers began to properly assess the ruins. Tents and homes were checked for valuables, materials, and possessions of the previous inhabitants, all of which were moved back towards the tunnel for later inspection. Once that was done, the tents themselves were judged for habitability, with ragged and mold-covered dwellings torn down and replaced.

In some ways, it reminded Albert of the first few days of living at Winterhome, as refugees crowded around the Generator with whatever tarps and blankets they could get their hands on. Whenever someone fell to the cold, their old possessions were quickly claimed by their neighbors, taking any sheets, cloths, and coverings that were still in one piece.

But there were differences. For one thing, they didn’t have to drag corpses out of these homes and dispose of them in the piles. Wherever the former occupants had gone, they’d had the decency to bring their dead with them. Not even bones remained.

Then there were the items removed from the tents. Despite finishing their search by the third day, they couldn’t find any of the usual refuse or equipment most refugees brought with them. There were no IEC survival rations, no journals or bibles, no winter clothing or survival gear.

Instead, the only items they found were more old tools and furniture. Decorations were pulled out at random, such as metal hoops with cords of string wrapped across, slabs of stone covered in indecipherable markings and purple crystals, and intricately sewn quilts in a number of exotic patterns. Many of the workers were reluctant to handle the items, unsettled by how foreign and strange they appeared. Just touching an artifact was supposedly enough to make them feel like they were being watched.

Finally, there was the method of illumination. The search through the ruins hadn’t uncovered any traces of fire or electric lighting. Instead, the sole source of light was those strange bulbs that were scattered around the cavern, formed out of frosted glass. A few workers had cracked one of them open, curious about whatever was inside, only to find a number of pale, luminous insects within, shocking the men and causing them to scream out. Since then, the workers had taken great care around the remaining bulbs, terrified that the bugs inside may be poisonous or aggressive.

By the end of the week, Charles had summed up the opinions of the workers quite well: “The place is a fucking madhouse.”

Further exploration into the cavern was hampered by their lack of equipment. The airflow indicated that there was another section of the caves, but the route to get there was blocked by a steep, insurmountable cliff at the rear of the settlement. Scaling that would have to wait until they could bring in more rope and climbing gear.

Worse yet, the temperature had remained too low for Winterhome to send more columns over for most of the week, hovering below negative sixty. The heavy snowstorms made communication with the city unreliable, and so messages that were sent back were limited to official reports. For all intents and purposes, they were cut off.

As such, with no means to talk to their families and nobody able to venture deeper into the cavern, the workers settled for a more civilized pastime: getting completely hammered.

One of the workers had brought along a few bottles for just such an occasion. Albert had no idea how it could be brewed without hops or grains. He’d heard rumors that some engineer had learned how to make alcohol out of coal, but that couldn’t be the case. There was no way the city would spare fuel from the Generator just for some liquor.

_Then again, it certainly turns my throat into a damned furnace. Maybe there’s some truth to it after all,_ Albert grimaced, downing another round. It was a wonder that nobody had gone blind from the stuff yet.

With their work for the day finished, most of the workers and engineers had gathered next to the tunnel, setting up a few fires and preparing their suppers. Fresh beets, carrots, and onions from the hothouses had also been brought along with the column, which, when added to the venison, allowed them to cook a delicious stew. Combined, the food, alcohol, and warmth had done wonders to create a comforting atmosphere.

Albert had already finished his meal, famished from the day’s labors. With nothing else to do and half a bottle of rotgut at his side, he sat by the fire, listening to the nearest group spin theories about the cavern’s previous inhabitants.

“I’m telling you, I don’t think any of our people built this place. It just…feels off, you know?”

“Maybe it was the French, or the Germans, or some other bunch from the mainland. Weren’t they roaming around these parts before the Frost hit?”

“Couldn’t be. Even the frogs would’ve brought clothes and guns and such with them. They weren’t _complete_ savages. Besides, no reason for them to sit down here when they could’ve just grabbed one of the Generators.”

“Even then, if those chaps had been around here, don’t you think the Company would’ve told us about them before it all went to hell? You know, just in case?”

“Nah, they wouldn’t have bothered. The only things those bastards were looking for up here were coal, wood, and gold.”

“ _Gold_? Come off it.”

“It’s true. At least, that’s what my cousin told me. He was part of the construction crew over at Site 108. They ended up finding ore in the generator shaft as they were setting up, and within the day, the foremen had them trading their blowtorches for picks.”

“Greedy pigs, the lot of them. I hope they froze in London.”

Soon enough, the group had gone off on another tangent, badmouthing the accursed company that had gotten them into this mess to begin with. The fate of whomever lived here before, while an important question, was ignored in favor of more familiar topics. Nobody wanted to think about what would happen if they didn’t like the answer.

_…Damn it, this was supposed to be a nice evening. Now I’ve gone and gotten myself depressed again._

Albert took another swig from the bottle, relishing the feeling of warmth it provided. Overindulgence in alcohol may have been a sin, but it was hardly the worst one could get up to.

From what Albert could tell, most of the other workers were discussing more cheerful subjects. Some of them were already talking about how they planned on preparing their tents for when their families arrived, or where they thought the Captain would put his office. Others were discussing plans to venture further into the cavern, hoping to find veins of coal or ore. A few were even debating what to name the place, with everything from ‘New Winterhome’ to ‘The Big Hole’ tossed about. Compared to the gossip he’d heard the last time he’d been in Winterhome, the discussions were almost sickeningly optimistic.

Not that he wanted to talk to anybody right now. The only people present Albert was familiar with were Charles and Davis, both of whom had gotten involved in a game of cards.

Unsteadily getting to his feet, Albert began stumbling back towards his tent. He’d feel better away from the others. It would probably be best to sleep off the alcohol, at any rate. His eyes were already drooping, and his head was pounding like the bell of a prayer house.

Exhaustion seemed to be a more frequent problem these days. Albert found himself waking up feeling as refreshed and energetic as a young man, then going to bed feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. A few of the others had reported the same problem, although not to the same severity.

Perhaps it was just the fact that they’d been underground for so long. Without the sun to keep track of time, it was much more difficult to keep to his normal schedule. It was a shame that Winterhome ran out of tea months ago. A few good cups probably would have been enough to solve the problem.

After a short trip, Albert arrived at his tent. Davis, Charles and he had repurposed one of the old dwellings into a new home, filling it with their old equipment and keeping whatever furniture was left intact. Whomever had lived here before had left behind far better cushions and pillows than Winterhome could provide. An oil lantern in the center of the floor lit up the shelter, offering just enough light to keep Albert from tripping over any items.

Taking off his jacket and gloves, Albert sprawled onto his makeshift bedding, not bothering to crawl underneath his quilt. Within moments, he was soundly asleep, snoring as loudly as a Dreadnought’s engine.

And soon enough, he began to dream.

* * *

**_“…You still persist, I see. Another outsider claiming the lands of my children…”_ **

**_“…But you are no followers of the cursed Wyrm, are you?”_ **

**_“…Neither beast nor bug, yet still drawn to the usurper’s kingdom. No touch of foreign gods, yet gifted with thought all the same…”_ **

**_“…You heed my call, but you do not accept my light…”_ **

**_“…Tell me, young one…”_ **

**_“…What are you?”_ **


	3. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert has another dream, gets into an argument with Charles, and finds a source of comfort.

_Consciousness came suddenly, assaulting Albert’s senses with warmth and light._

_It took him a moment to focus, blinking a few times as he tried to clear his vision. Eventually, he was able to wake up enough to see a familiar, if unimpressive, environment._

_He found himself in the main bedroom of his bunkhouse, with jumbled cots and hammocks crowded together wherever their owners could find space. It had been winterproofed to the best of their abilities, with rugs and blankets covering the walls and floors, although they could never find enough to cover everything. A handful of flickering bulbs lit up the room, somehow making it more difficult to see the scattered belongings left lying on the floor._

_Mercifully, it seemed that he had the room to himself for the moment. None of the other beds were occupied, and he couldn’t hear anyone moving about. He could take his time getting ready for the workday._

_Considering nobody had woken him up, he might even have the day off. No trudging through the Frostlands, searching for scraps of civilization. Instead, he could try to enjoy the amenities of Winterhome. Perhaps he could take a trip to the chapel, or see if anyone had any books they’d be willing to part with._

_Yawning, Albert shifted in his bed, pulling back the covers-_

_…Why were his arms uncovered? Where was his coat? Where were his gloves?_

_It seemed that most of his winter clothing had gone missing, leaving him with only a dark blue shirt on. Looking down at the rest of his body, Albert was surprised to find himself only wearing a set of pajamas, leftovers he’d carried all the way from Bristol. The soft fabric was comfortable, but it was still only a single layer._

_That couldn’t be right. Even in the bunkhouses, people would be daft to take off too many clothes. With the threat of the Generator going dark at any moment, they had quickly learned that it was sensible to keep layered up at all times. He’d heard stories of people who had been caught off-guard during the first outages, nearly freezing to death while they slept._

_As Albert looked around, something told him that it wasn’t real. It was similar, but the details were slightly off. The air was filled with a constant, gentle warmth, rather than most of the heat sticking near the radiators and the heaters. No matter how many carpets and rugs they put up over the walls, there was always another crack to let in that soul-sucking cold at all hours of the day._

_Then there was just how silent the room was. Even the Generator, whose bellows and struggles were the heartbeat of the city, had fallen completely quiet. Despite that, the electrics of the bunkhouse were still functioning, with the lights on and the heaters running. Perhaps…_

_...It must be a dream. The stress must have gotten to him again._

_Now he could remember. He hadn’t been in Winterhome in nearly two weeks. He didn’t need to wear winter clothing all the time because the cavern was already warm enough._

_But why was he dreaming this up now? It wasn’t like he had any terrible memories from the bunkhouse. Even if he did, he wasn’t sure why his mind felt stressed enough to bring it up now. Everyone was a bit unsettled by their new surroundings, for sure, but it was a manageable paranoia._

_A loud crash brought Albert out of his thoughts. Turning towards the noise, he noticed that a bowl had fallen off one of the tables, shattering into pieces as it hit the floor. It was shortly followed by a mug, then several pieces of silverware, as the tables themselves started to shake._

_Soon enough, the entire room began to quake, jolting furniture and debris around the room. Gripping his mattress, Albert tried to hold on as his bed trembled and shook wildly. The walls themselves started to rattle, sending tarps clattering onto the ground and causing cracks to appear in the wood. Bright, searing beams of light came in through the gaps, illuminating the room in a brilliant orange._

_As Albert stared, one of the walls gave out, collapsing in a cloud of dust and debris. The room grew brighter and brighter, the beams of light shifting like a mass of tendrils trying to rip the building apart. Within moments, the ceiling started to collapse, sending boards tumbling throughout the room._

_Albert tried to cover his head, watching as his home was destroyed, as the ceiling moved closer and closer towards him-_

-and cursed as something smacked into his head, making his ears ring. Holding his skull, he glanced around the room, wondering what had happened.

…He was back in his tent. He recognized the frayed, grey fabric hanging above his head, bowing down between a handful of steel rods. An arc lantern was suspended between them, almost blinding him with its light.

Glancing around his pillows, Albert noticed a flash of purple amidst the dark. He reached out towards it, finding himself clutching onto a small piece of crystal. But he hadn’t brought anything like that along with him last night. Where had that-

“Looks like you’re finally awake.”

Turning around, Albert noticed that both Charles and Davis were awake and staring at him. Charles was staring daggers at him, while Davis looked resigned to the situation.

“Will you just _shut up_ already?” Charles asked. “You’ve been yammering on to yourself for the last hour. We’re trying to sleep-”

The sharp ringing of a bell echoed through the ruins at that moment, causing everyone to fall silent. Charles looked towards the source, his expression turning despondent in an instant.

 _“Good morning, lads! It’s time for the workday to begin!”_ One of the engineers announced, in a voice that was far too cheerful that early in the morning. Soon enough, the sounds of rustling tarps and hushed conversation followed suit as their neighbors prepared for work.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Charles groaned, falling back into his bedding with a light _thump_. Davis moaned in response, covering his head with a pillow.

Albert wasn’t sure how to react, still trying to gather his bearings. What was happening? Had he done something in his sleep again? If that was the case, it wasn’t like he knew what his mind was focused on this time. All he could remember from the dream were flashes of light and heat, along with a vague sense of panic.

Charles sighed, getting to his feet and fixing Albert with a glare. “Look, I’ve tried to be reasonable, but I’m at my wits’ end here. Either stop fucking around in your sleep or find another tent.”

Albert blinked, confused. “W-what? What kind of a demand is that?”

“The kind where I’m tired of dealing with you. You’ve been like this all week, and I’ve had enough,” Charles growled, storming out of the tent. All Albert could do was watch, wondering what the hell just happened. Were they going to throw him out of the tent for something as trivial as _nightmares_?

Davis was no help. All he did was shrug his shoulders at Albert’s confused expression, following Charles out the tent. Soon enough their footsteps faded out of hearing, joining the sounds of the rest of the camp beginning their morning rituals.

It took Albert a few moments to collect himself. His head was still sore from where the crystal had hit him, although there didn’t seem to be any bleeding. It was still unsettling, keeping him distracted while he gathered his things for the day.

As Albert walked out the tent, intending to go to the mess hall, he couldn’t get over Charles’ behavior. What kind of person behaved like that when someone was having a nightmare? He’d expect that from one of the Major’s thugs, not someone who had fought in the uprising.

Of course Charles placed all the blame on him. It wasn’t like they were all stir crazy from a week without any sunlight. It wasn’t like there were people who hadn’t spent most of their lives underground or had more experience with people than picks.

_…This is getting out of hand. I need to calm down._

Normally, Albert tried to find peace by walking along the riverbank. The grasses lining the waterfront, though scattered, were a marvel to behold after months of seeing nothing but ice and stone. When he was feeling imaginative, he could almost pretend he was strolling along the River Avon, heading back to his apartment after a nighttime trip to the pub.

Sadly, that spot had started to become crowded recently. Some of the workers had decided to test their hand at fishing in those waters, setting up nets and preparing rods. There hadn’t been any signs of life in the river so far, but that hadn’t stopped them from hanging around the path on their way to work.

Thankfully, a new option had just become available: their work camp had finished its first shrine.

Making his way through the nearby tents, Albert caught a glimpse of it above the nearby structures. It was plain and simple, made up of scrap wood and cloth instead of polished bronze and white plaster like the shrines back in Winterhome, but its design was unmistakable. Supported on several stilts, the main body of the shrine was elevated above the nearby ruins, with holy symbols placed across an upper platform for all to see.

Underneath the structure, a small bowl was laid on a pedestal, where offerings could be made and prayers could be given. Lanterns and candles were placed on small platforms attached to the stilts, offering both warmth and light for visitors. It was a far cry from the old churches of the mainland, but it still served its purpose.

Albert couldn’t help but be pleased at the sight of it. Though they may have found refuge from the storm, the people of Winterhome were not foolish enough to accept it thanklessly. The Captain and the Almighty would both receive their dues.

Even now, the day after it had been erected, the shrine was already in use. A handful of workers had gathered underneath the structure, hands clasped and heads bowed in prayer. While he would have preferred to pray by himself, the atmosphere was more pleasant than by the waterfront. From what Albert could see, some of the others had already left prayer slips, beads, and pieces of those purple crystals inside the offering bowl.

The crystals were strange, but…they were also beautiful, in a way. They seemed sensitive to the smallest of light sources, reflecting with a brilliant glow upon exposure. Some of the workers had discovered a few stockpiles of loose crystals while exploring the ruins, and they had gradually been passed around to the rest of the expedition. A few of the men had already expressed interest in looking for more crystals in the rest of the caverns once a reliable path was established.

 _At this rate, we’ll end up as another Kimberly_ , Albert thought. _All we’re missing are the Boers and the mining automatons._

Albert continued to make his way to the shrine, idly wondering about what had happened to the colonies. The papers had said that the dominions would be safe from the cold, but they had lied about the changing weather before. How far south would the Great Frost reach? Would any parts of the Empire be spared?

All he could do was pray that others had found shelter elsewhere. Though this may have been the second great deluge, the Lord had provided plenty of warning to prepare.

Something else caught Albert’s attention, pulling him out of his thoughts. As he arrived at the congregation, hands twiddling in his pockets, Albert felt something odd. Pulling it out, he noticed that he had brought along his piece of purple crystal from that morning.

The crystal was about the size of his thumb, and about as heavy as a similarly sized piece of coal. Notches and marks on the sides were left from whenever it had been mined out, although they weren’t terribly ugly. If anything, they made the crystal more entrancing, catching light and making it dance across his palm in strange and beautiful patterns.

He hadn’t been certain of what to do with it, but now seemed a fine time to use it. With his rosary and notebook back in the city, it was just about the only offering he could make.

Picking the stone from his pack, Albert placed it in the bowl. Then, bowing his head and closing his eyes, he began to pray.

_Thank you, Lord, for your mercy. Thank you for offering us this ark in the storm, and for providing deliverance from your divine punishment. We are grateful for your blessings this day, and for the gift of a new dawn. Please accept this offering, paltry though it may be, and guide us from the mistakes of our predecessors._

_I beg of you, Lord, protect us from the storm. Protect our people, even as the world freezes around us. Protect our Empire, scattered and broken as it is._

Albert stood there a few moments longer, hands pressed in deference. Even back in the harsh snows and winds on the surface, shrines had always been a peaceful place for him to clear his thoughts and prepare himself for work. Now proved to be no different. He could already feel the anger from that morning fade away, replaced by a sense of peace and purpose.

But all good things must come to an end. Albert opened his eyes, offering one last ‘amen’ before moving out from the crowd. He still needed to get his morning rations and figure out what his work schedule for the day was.

Perhaps he could find another offering along the way.

* * *

Around halfway through the workday, another caravan arrived from Winterhome.

It was large, about twice the size of the first one. As before, it was mostly composed of workers, this time taken off of the crews rebuilding old Winterhome. Surprisingly, a few children and invalids had also accompanied the group, carried along on the supply sleds across the Frostlands. Most of the group were strangers, but there were a few quick words of greeting and celebrations between friends and family members.

Albert tried to ignore them as best he could, pushing past the crowds as he walked towards the vehicle depot. Nobody he knew had come along for the journey, so he didn’t feel any need to get involved.

Instead, he focused on the supplies the caravan had brought with them. Industrial sleds covered in wooden boards, steel beams, and crates of food and coal were lined around the surface entrance, their electric motors still steaming from the exertion of their journey. Bags of other items were also piled on top, no doubt filled with clothing, furniture, and other accessories.

One container in particular caught his attention. It was branded with the symbol of a seashell, with the faded logo of the Imperial Exploration Company placed within. The words ‘Mountaineering Equipment’ were stamped on the side in bold, impressive lettering, as if they were warning of explosives rather than ropes and climbing boots.

Trying to grab the handles, Albert lifted the box, barely managing to keep from tripping. Though the container wasn’t unbearably heavy, it was large and unwieldy, barely small enough to grip the handles with both arms. How much equipment was stored in there?

“You sure you don’t need help with that?” A familiar voice called out. Looking behind him, Albert could see Charles approaching.

“I’ll be fine,” Albert said, still struggling to find a firm grip on the handles. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

Charles sighed, looking away from him. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning, alright? It’s been a long week, I’ve barely gotten any sleep, and…yeah. I’m stressed, is all.”

“…It’s fine. I suppose,” Albert muttered. It was probably just a token gesture before they went off exploring again, but he’d be gracious enough to accept it.

Charles grunted in response, grabbing one of the crate’s handles. Though Albert hated to admit it, the box was much easier to handle with two people. “But seriously, what’s with you rolling about like that when you sleep?”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that. First the sleepwalking, now the thrashing…it’s creepy as hell.”

Albert scoffed. “Well, what am I supposed to do about any of that? It’s not like I can just stop dreaming.”

“I don’t know. Check with a doctor, maybe? I’m sure they can brew up something to help fix what’s wrong with you.” Charles shrugged.

“They have more important tasks than dealing with bad dreams,” Albert said. “Besides, who knows if they’d even be able to help?” From the rumors he’d heard, the medical wards were almost out of everything besides clean water and medical alcohol.

“Suit yourself. Just…try to figure out something, alright? I’m pretty sure they can hear you thrashing all the way back in London.”

“…I’ll see what I can do,” Albert muttered. Not that it would amount to much.

Charles nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “Good. Anyways, do you know where we should drop this stuff off? I can feel my arms falling off already.”

It was an abrupt subject change, but Albert wouldn’t complain. “Anywhere by the cliff should be fine. We still need to plan out a path to the top.”

“I think I know a good spot. There’s a part over by the river, where it goes into the wall. Not too steep, and there’s a few more handholds we can use.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Albert said.

The walk back through the village was awkward, mostly due to the limited space and the crowds. Their settlement had suddenly tripled in size, with many of the new inhabitants bringing down supplies and possessions from the surface. They had to wait in line before they could descend to the ruins, barely managing to fit the container through the passageway once it was their turn.

_I suppose we’ll need to work on expanding that tunnel soon. Bloody traffic jams in the first week._

By the time they’d reached the cliffs, the workday had nearly ended. As their destination came into view, Albert took a closer look at the wall. As Charles had said, it wasn’t as intimidating as other stretches of the cliff, with plenty of stalagmites and edges to hold on to. It was a shame it was still at least a hundred feet of climbing before they reached the top.

Inside the box, they found everything they would need for the ascent. Ropes, climbing boots, pitons, harnesses, and all other manner of equipment was stored inside, packed together like sardines in a can. Thankfully, there was enough gear to outfit their entire team. Who knew how long it would take to find another crate of equipment like this?

Now all they needed to do was figure out how they were going to climb up.


	4. Peaks and Valleys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scout team climbs a cliff, finds a statue, and meets one of the locals.

After a few moments of discussion, waiting for Davis to arrive and having a small supper, they came up with a plan.

As Albert was the one with the most scouting experience, he would go up first, creating a trail for Charles and Davis to follow. Along the way, they would use the pitons and rope to secure their ascent and ensure that follow-up trips would be easier. Once they reached the top and ascertained what was up there, they could see if they needed to bring up additional equipment or men for later incursions.

On paper, it was a manageable climb. In reality, it proved to be more arduous than any of them had thought it would be.

Even in the Frostlands, they’d tried to avoid climbing over cliffs or obstacles whenever possible. With warmth and food as scarce as they were, and the burden of winter clothing weighing them down, nobody wanted to risk scaling the ice when they could just find another way forward. One could freeze to death during an ascent just as easily as they could slip and fall, should they lose the strength to move their limbs.

Climbing up stone proved to be more challenging than ice, even with the advantages of their equipment and the climate. He couldn’t rely on his ice axes or cleats to make handholds or footholds like he did on the surface. Instead, he was forced to move slowly from outcropping to outcropping, making sure that the stone was strong enough to support his weight before committing. While the warmer temperature was comfortable, the winds they began to face higher up the cliff were just as strong as the gales in the Frostlands, trying to throw him towards his death at every moment.

The stone itself was difficult to find a solid grip on. While the stalagmites did provide useful handholds, much of the rock was too slick for Albert to feel safe using. Moisture from the river below covered the cliff side, making every handhold and foothold slick and uneasy.

Worse still was the rope. It was necessary to construct a line for future trips up and down the cliff, but securing it into the stone proved to be exhausting work. Having to hammer pitons into the cliff face in the midst of the heavy winds was a terrifying, dizzying task, and one that he was all too glad to finish quickly.

After what felt like hours of climbing and hammering, Albert finally reached the cliff edge, pulling himself over and dragging himself away from the edge. He took a moment to catch his breath, lying on the ground and panting. His lungs were burning like a furnace, and his heart was threatening to hammer its way out of his chest.

And, much to his consternation, he wasn’t done climbing just yet. While the slope further up the mountain wasn’t as steep as the cliff itself, the path still continued upwards into the darkness, beyond the range of his lantern. He tried to peer further ahead, but the gusts of air made it difficult to face the path without getting dust in his eyes.

“How’s it look up there? See anything?” Charles called out, barely audible above the gales.

Albert groaned, turning back towards the edge. “Just another climb ahead of us. Flattens out a bit, but I can’t see where it goes.”

There was a brief pause before Charles responded. “Alright, we’re coming up. Don’t hog the ledge!”

A few minutes later, Charles surfaced, hands scrabbling for a way to pull himself up. Moving back over, Albert grabbed onto his arm, tugging him over the ledge and to safety. They repeated the process with Davis, leaving them all exhausted and gasping for breath, lying next to the cliff edge.

_Never again_ , Albert thought, struggling to get to his feet. _Please, Lord, let the rest of this climb be gentle._

“Thank Christ that’s over,” Charles muttered.

“Not just yet,” Albert sighed. “Davis, is the line secure?”

Davis grunted an affirmative, tugging on the rope a few times. Nothing fell away, and the rope remained in one piece. Hopefully that would remain the case when it was time to return home.

“Right, then. Is everyone good to push on?” Albert asked.

Charles held up a hand, reaching towards his canteen. After a few gulps, he returned it to his belt, breathing more easily. “Sure. Let’s get moving.”

They continued to move forwards, scanning the area with their lanterns as best they could. The slope gradually flattened, much to their relief, even as the winds forced them to protect their faces with their scarves. All the while, the light from the ruins continued to dim, the lanterns and fires eventually disappearing beneath the cliff edge. The three of them were all that remained, travelers in an alien landscape.

Initially, their search seemed to be fruitless. They couldn’t find any more ruins, or artifacts, or even natural landmarks besides a handful of boulders. The only thing of note was the hill they were climbing, covered in loose stones and gravel that constantly shifted under their feet.

Albert was reminded of a novel he’d once read, either an eternity or a year ago. It was about a group of explorers charting the oceans, traveling along the bottom of the Atlantic in search of long-lost relics and wrecks. The book’s descriptions of the ocean floor were disturbingly similar to the cavern around them, too far below for the sun to ever reach them, with only the rocks and the currents to keep them company. They didn’t need the ocean to drown them; the claustrophobia was more than enough for such a task.

Perhaps the ice had reached the ocean floor by now. The last time Albert had seen the Atlantic, fleeing towards Winterhome with the rest of their convoy, the ocean had already seized and stilled. Back then, the ice was thick enough for a Dreadnought to crawl over. With how far temperatures had dropped since then, the ice could only have gotten thicker.

Albert tried to ignore the memories of ships frozen in place, of men and steel crushed and mangled beyond repair. Those were days he didn’t like to think about.

Finally, after what felt like ages, they discovered what seemed to be the crest of the hill. It was a welcome sight. Everyone in the group was exhausted, the heat getting to them in a way they’d forgotten long before. It would be a good place to rest for a bit.

And then they made it to the top, and they found themselves pausing anyways, confused by the sight ahead of them.

Countless boulders filled the landscape, practically lying on top of each other with how crowded they were, stretching back for as far as their lanterns could reach. Each of them was covered in odd patterns, greys and whites coating their surfaces in a way that seemed too consistent to be natural. It was as if they had stumbled onto some foreign graveyard, dozens of graves marked with unreadable tombstones.

And, like a shepherd guarding his flock, a familiar figure towered above the landscape.

The statue was massive, several feet taller than Albert, even though it was leaning back at a sharp angle. It was damaged, with pieces of stone missing and a series of cracks spreading across the entire statue. Despite this, there was still enough detail to provide an idea of what it was supposed to be, with feathered wings, a smooth body, and a three-pronged crown atop its head.

It was the same creature as the carving he’d found a week ago, all the way back in the entrance to New Winterhome. Reaching into his satchel, Albert pulled out the figure, comparing it with the statue. The statue was far more intricate, but there was no mistaking the shape or form.

The only discernible difference he could make out was age. While the statue was far more detailed than the idol, the statue looked like it had been weathered and damaged by the constant winds. The features closer to the cliffside were smoother, less distinct, than the rest of the statue. Meanwhile, the idol still had sharp lines and angles, implying that it was newer.

Charles seemed to grasp a connection between the two, glancing back and forth between the idol and the statue. He looked like he wanted to say something, only to cut himself off with a blink. Instead, he kept his eyes pointed at the bottom of the statue.

Albert looked back towards where Charles was focused. There was a small alcove at the base of the statue, barely visible behind the surrounding rubble. It likely would have gone unnoticed were it not for the chunk of metal sitting inside of it, reflecting the light from their lanterns. Gleaming as brightly as polished jewelry, the metal was left in a misshapen lump, with rough edges and small cracks marring the surface.

“Is that iron?” Albert asked.

_Why would anyone use a chunk of iron as an offering? Surely the Almighty would prefer something else over a piece of ore,_ Albert thought.

“No, not iron. Not silver either, I don’t think…” Charles trailed off, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

“Then what is it?”

“…Fuck if I know,” Charles muttered. “Ore shouldn’t shine like this, but if they smelted it, there wouldn’t be a reason to shape it into this mess. Maybe…”

Charles trailed off, muttering to himself as he stared at the ore. It was as if the statue wasn’t even there, a mere sideshow to the brilliance of the metal. It figured that the miner would focus his attention on that.

Albert turned his attention back to the statue, frowning. Was this supposed to be a shrine? It didn’t look like any he’d ever been to, before or after the Frost arrived, but the alcove felt similar to an offering bowl. If it was a shrine, though, then why would they carve it as a creature like that? None of the angels he had read about looked quite like it.

And yet, looking at the statue’s face…something about it gave Albert a headache. Half-formed instincts warred in his mind, telling him to both walk closer and move away.

“Agh, shit-” Charles hissed. As Albert turned around, he caught a glimpse of Charles scooting back from the alcove, flexing his hand.

“Charles? Is everything alright?” Albert asked.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Thing’s colder than I was expecting. Feels like a piece of ice,” Charles muttered. After a moment of hesitation, he moved back towards his bag, rummaging around his tools. Albert left him to it, heading over towards one of the boulders. If Charles said he was fine, then he was fine.

A quick check with his lantern confirmed his suspicions; the patterns weren’t natural. Writings covered the boulder, chalk-white lines etched across its entire surface. Individually, the lines were nothing more than jumbled runes. Combined, they made up intricate, indecipherable patterns, far more complex than any writings Albert had ever seen before.

A handful of sigils and images were carved alongside them, showing some sort of winged animal in different poses. Some of them looked like the statue, with soft angles and curved lines flowing away from it. Others looked similar, but with small differences. They were smaller, less detailed, lacking the crown or eyes.

Albert didn’t even bother to try to understand the images. All he would get from them was a headache. As for the runes, they were oddly familiar, even though he couldn’t understand a word of them. While Albert was only fluent in English, he was certain they weren’t written in French, or German, or any other civilized language. So where had he seen them before?

…The slabs in the camp. The writings on them had been similar to these stones. Some of the symbols were the same, he was certain of it. Whomever had lived in the camp must have gotten up here, but how? Why weren’t there any paths?

Perhaps the runes were meant to be instructions for whoever found them. Directions, possibly, or warnings about dangers they might find along the paths. Perhaps it was a tombstone, and he was standing over the corpse of yet another victim of the cold. Or perhaps it was something else entirely, and he’d never be able to tell.

Oh well. All they could do was hope that someone from the city knew how to read it. If nobody could, it wouldn’t be much of a loss.

A rustling sound caught his attention. Glancing back at Charles, he saw the man shoving the chunk of metal into his pack, moving around odds and ends as he tried to get everything to fit. Catching Albert’s eye, Charles offered a shrug before returning to his labors.

“Just bringing back a present for the Captain,” Charles said. “Figure we ought to bring him back something to thank him for the gear.”

“…Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Albert asked, frowning. Winterhome did need all the steel it could get, but something about taking the metal felt wrong to Albert. What kind of men could they be if they had to resort to robbing shrines?

“Not much point in leaving it here, is there?” Charles shrugged. “‘Sides, it isn’t like anyone else is using it.”

“Let’s just put it back for now. We don’t have to defile a shrine.” Albert said.

Charles raised an eyebrow, frowning. “You sure it’s a shrine? I don’t exactly see any crosses up here, do you?”

“Well, what else could it be? This isn’t some little pebble someone tried to carve up, it’s a fucking statue. A big one, at that.” Albert replied, trying to keep his temper in check. Another argument would be the last thing they needed. Even if Charles was showing some disturbingly unfaithful attitudes, they were alone up here.

Charles stood up, glaring. “If it’s a choice between this statue and someone getting a new leg, I’m choosing the leg. You’re the one always going off about what Winterhome needs. Well, I say they need-”

“There’s something over there.” Davis interrupted.

“What?” Albert and Charles asked, turning around.

Davis was standing over by the cliff face, staring off into the distance with a pair of binoculars. “I think there’s a village down there. There’s some buildings and lights down that way,” he responded, pointing towards the light in the distance.

Bringing up his own binoculars, Albert tried to look as well. The haze and dust in the air made it difficult to make out details, but after a few moments, he was able to find what Davis had seen. Numerous stone mounds, at least several dozen, were collected in the center of a flat plain, lit up by what had to be streetlamps. Shadows moved between the structures, but it was impossible to see what they were.

Looking at the settlement, Albert couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong. Instead of the stone huts of a typical village, the buildings were all smooth mounds, with no discernible bricks, signs, or chimneys. The shadows, though difficult to make out, seemed to vary in size and shape slightly too much to be merely a trick of the light.

The shape of the village put thoughts of rocky shorelines in his head, barely visible in the night. Dangerous and deadly without proper warning, revealing themselves only when the tides lowered. What would happen to them when they strayed closer?

Albert shook his head, frowning. Thinking like that was absurd. It was just the exhaustion getting to him. Perhaps they should have waited a day instead of setting out this late in the evening.

It was an important discovery, regardless of his paranoia. Now they knew where the previous inhabitants of the ruins had gone. Even better, if the number of huts was any indication, there were likely quite a few survivors. Once they managed to meet with them, hopefully they could work together to turn the cavern into a new shelter for Winterhome.

Nearby, Albert could hear Charles let out a sigh of relief. He could understand his reaction. With the state of the ruins, many of the workers were becoming convinced that all they’d find would be bodies. It was always a good day to see another group that had survived the Great Frost.

“Think that’s where everyone ran off to?” Charles asked.

“It has to be. Don’t know why they’d bother going that far in, but…” Albert shrugged. Perhaps they were simply trying to put as much distance between themselves and the surface as possible. Still a strange decision, but an understandable one.

“Looks like quite the village,” Charles whistled. “Must be big enough for, what, a hundred people down there?”

“Possibly,” Albert muttered, doubtful. Just because there were houses down there didn’t mean that they were occupied. The fact that they may or may not be standing in a graveyard was enough to dampen some of his excitement.

_They were able to set up graveyards instead of corpse piles_ , a bitter voice within Albert whispered. _How bad off can they really be?_

Regardless, they were stuck with the question of how to get to those survivors. As far as Albert could tell, all that was behind the statue was another set of cliffs, plunging down into complete darkness. There was no way to tell how steep the cliff was, or how far down it went. Even if they were able to successfully descend, it would be all but impossible to climb back up.

As Albert looked over the edge, contemplating their options, something else caught his attention. While the air was filled with the shrieks and howls of the wind, this close to the cliff, he could make out another sound. It was more forceful than the gales, booming out and echoing from somewhere below them, as if someone was setting off explosives beneath their feet.

“…What is that?” Albert asked.

“Say something?” Davis asked.

“Come over here. I think…I think there might be something below us,” Albert said, waving the others over. Soon enough, all three of them were clustered together, trying to make out what the noise was.

“Thumpers. Got to be,” Charles said, kneeling down and leaning towards the ground. “Sounds just about the same as the ones back in the city. Not sure how far away they are, though. Or why they’d bother with them when they’re already underground.”

“…Maybe they’re using them to crush coal?” Albert asked.

Charles shook his head. “Wouldn’t need to. If they’ve got the steam for thumpers, they’ve got the steam for drills. Still grinds everything up, but you don’t have to worry as much about breaking up the bedrock that way. And in a cave…”

Albert couldn’t help but shiver at the thought. If the cavern walls were to collapse because of those machines, with all those tons of ice and stone above their heads…

“W-we should figure out where those machines are, then. Make sure that it’s all safe,” Albert said, trying to push those images out of his head. Surely nobody would set up equipment like that if there was a risk of such a catastrophe. It would be madness.

_Just as mad as saying everything’s fine while the world freezes. Just as mad as ignoring a malfunctioning Generator._

Charles and Davis nodded jerkily, getting back to their feet. Nobody needed encouragement to find a path downwards. After all, if they couldn’t find that machinery, more than the ruins would be at risk.

Splitting up, they began to search along the tombstones, looking for a way down. Lord willing, they’d find one quickly. An endeavor of this scale would likely have required materials to be brought up, which meant that a tunnel, stairway, or lift could be nearby.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t find any such infrastructure. The peak dropped off into steep cliffs in almost every direction, save for the one they’d climbed up. Either the previous inhabitants had hidden the route they’d used, or they’d dismantled the equipment they’d used to ascend or descend the peak.

It took Albert nearly falling into it to find a way down, but they eventually found a path underground: a small, dark hole in the ground, stuck between a closely grouped set of boulders.

It was barely visible amidst the surrounding ruins. Just large enough for a man to fit inside, Albert wouldn’t have considered scaling down it under normal circumstances. However, it was also clear that this was their best option; the noise of the machinery was loudest from this point, and despite their efforts, they couldn’t find any safer routes below.

Albert threw a rock into the hole, listening to the echoes. He was hardly an expert at that sort of thing, but the stone didn’t seem to fall that far. No more than thirty feet, if he had to guess. Manageable, although with how much rope they had used during the initial climb, he assumed it would use up most of the rope they had left.

“…That’s a big fucking hole,” Charles muttered. “You sure about this, Albert? Doesn’t look that much better than the cliff to me.”

“We don’t really have a choice, do we?” Albert said, trying to ignore his nerves. “It’s either this, or we try our luck with the void.”

“Or we go back and tell the Captain about this. That’s also an option.” Charles shrugged.

“No, not yet. We need to get in contact with whomever these people are first.” Albert said. Lord knew it would be easier if they could radio a message to Winterhome about all this, but unless they wanted to travel all the way back to the surface outpost, that wasn’t an option.

Thankfully, they didn’t need to hammer in another piton. The boulders were heavy enough to support Albert’s weight, and the ropes were easily secured to them. Unfortunately, they had to tie their remaining cords of rope together to ensure it was long enough for the climb down. If there was another drop ahead of them, they would need to return to the surface outpost after all.

_Hopefully the dead won’t mind. Better than pounding a spike into their grave, I suppose,_ Albert thought. _I’ll leave an offering for them later._

“…So all of us are just crawling down there, then? This is a bad idea. ” Charles said.

“Not all of us,” Albert said. “You’re right, this is a risky path. Someone should stay behind up here. Just in case we need help.”

_Or in case Winterhome needs to be told to form another scout team,_ Albert left unsaid.

Charles sighed, rubbing his forehead. “…Guess I’m coming with you. I know how to navigate tunnels better than either of you.”

Davis shrugged. “Fine.” Nothing else needed to be said.

Planning done, the three of them got ready. Albert and Charles secured themselves to the new line, organizing what gear could or couldn’t fit on the way down. Davis stayed near the statue, taking any equipment that was too bulky in exchange for his spare ammunition and batteries.

Climbing down proved to be just as challenging as climbing up had been. The walls were just wide enough to accommodate him and his gear, but it was a tight fit. The further he descended, the more he felt like he was falling down the throat of some vast beast, already devoured and swallowed. His arms and legs pushed against the rock, ruining his clothes and scraping what skin was exposed.

Above him, Albert could hear Charles curse and struggle as he entered the hole. It was oddly comforting, knowing that he wouldn’t be stuck alone at the bottom. If he died, at least someone else would be screaming right alongside him.

After several minutes of struggling, Albert was met with yet another sight he hadn’t expected: a large mineshaft, devoid of both life and machinery. Wooden crossbeams snaked along the ceiling and the walls, covering almost every inch of the tunnels. A set of steel rails sat upon the floor, stretching off into the darkness in both directions. Pale, purple light shone through cracks in the walls, coloring everything in a hazy glow. Aside from the lighting, it wasn’t that much different from Charles’ descriptions of the coal mines. The air itself was filled with dust and noise, making it difficult to hear anything over the pounding of the thumper.

What interested Albert more were the containers lining the edges of the tunnel. Rather than wood or steel, the containers appeared to be made out of stone or clay and formed into a vase-like shape. Some of them had lids covering their tops, but many were uncovered.

Albert walked over to the closest containers, peering inside. Their contents were varied; a few contained massive piles of purple crystals of varying size and quality, nearly blinding him as he glanced within. A few others contained chunks of stone, along with a few pieces of what appeared to be different types of ores. One particular container held nothing but piles of what looked like concentric fossils, stacked up almost to his knees. Stranger still was the fact that that container had been secured with a metal latch, which he’d had to break open with his hammer.

“Find anything useful?” Charles asked, appearing behind Albert.

“Nothing much. More crystals, maybe some iron, and whatever these things are.” Albert said, passing one of the fossils to Charles. “Someone thought they were worth locking up, but I can’t fathom why.”

Charles glanced at the fossil, frowning. “Don’t look that valuable to me. Maybe we’ve got ourselves a bunch of science-y types down here.”

Albert supposed that could be the case. Before Bristol fell, he’d heard rumors that one of the Generator sites had been given up to the universities. Nobody had been too happy to hear that news.

“Guess we can ask them once we find them.” Charles said, pocketing the fossil. “Anyways, did you see where the noise was coming from?”

Albert quieted down, trying to make out the pounding of the thumper. In the cramped conditions of the tunnel, it would be an easy sound to pick up.

Except he didn’t hear it. Albert glanced around, apprehension building inside of him, but the machine refused to make itself known. Whoever was causing the crashes and groans from before had stopped for the time being.

“…That direction, I think?” Albert guessed, pointing off to one side. He could make out a light near the end of the tunnel, and if he listened closely, he could hear the sounds of picks striking stone.

“Good enough for me,” Charles shrugged. “After you.”

Albert acquiesced, moving ahead. The two of them tried to remain as silent as they could while they walked, listening for any signs of movement or machinery. The great booming from before was no more, but the echoes from the picks seemed to be growing louder.

The pale purple light faded away as they neared the end of the tunnel, replaced by an intense, pure white. The stone walls and ceiling gradually expanded, slowly relaxing the grip of claustrophobia upon them. More containers appeared, now so numerous that they needed to be stacked on top of one another.

Eventually, they made it to the end of the tunnel, taking in the sight ahead of them. The room was well-lit, with several insect-filled lanterns secured to the crossbeams. Metal shelves and containers filled the sides of the room, unsecured and overflowing with raw materials. There were a few chairs placed near the corner of the room, along with a small table. Oddly enough, besides the crossbeams, each item of furniture in the room was made out of steel.

More rail tracks snaked around the room, emerging from half a dozen different tunnel entrances. Each of the tracks led to a massive machine in the center of the room, composed of both stone and steel, mechanical parts fitted between stone slabs.

It didn’t look like a coal thumper to Albert. He couldn’t see any pipes for steam or water, nor did it seem like the machine was forcing any coal out from underground. A conveyor belt moved through the device from one end to the other, although it was currently empty. Above the conveyor belt was a large stone plate, covered in scratches and cracks. Near the edge of the belt, a metal box sat on the ground, surrounded by shattered pieces of crystal.

Not a thumper at all, then. Perhaps it was a device to crush the rock, to make it easier for sorting or transport. But why crush the crystals? Why wouldn’t they cut them like normal gems?

Albert hummed in thought, picking up one of the chunks of crystal from the ground. Far from the examples they’d found back in the ruins, this sample was shattered and jagged. The usual glow was lost among a web of fractures and cracks, like sunlight disappearing into a crevasse. Could a jeweler fix that kind of damage?

A glance into the box revealed that only a handful of crystals were left intact at all. Most of them had been reduced to fine particles, leaving a pile of pink sand at the bottom of the container. Albert tried to think up reasons for it, but his mind failed to conjure any. What use would anyone have in crushing down these crystals? Any why would they set up so much infrastructure to do so?

_Not like they can use any of it,_ Albert mused. _They certainly look nice, but all this equipment seems a bit much just for some jewels._

A year or two ago, and this investment in the area would have made sense. Crystals like these would’ve fetched a fine price in London’s markets. If the Company had caught word of the resources down here, they’d have sent their men here long before the Frost arrived.

But that was before the Frost. Nowadays, the only reasons to dig underground were to either try and escape the cold or to get whatever coal and ore you could find. Winterhome was lucky; it had been built near rich veins of both resources, the only reason why the city hadn’t collapsed under the Major’s rule.

The crates of stone and ore they’d found before implied that they were getting those materials from somewhere down here. Perhaps they were being mined in another section, but if that was the case, how deep did the mines go?

Something rattled and shifted nearby, startling Albert out of his thoughts. He glanced around, feeling unnerved. Whatever had moved, it had been close.

A new pile of crystals lay on the conveyor belt, settling noisily. As Albert focused, he could hear something walking around behind the machine. A quick glance behind him showed that Charles was still at the entrance to the room. And Davis had been left back near the hole.

Someone else was nearby. Albert tried to peer through the machine, but the gap was too narrow, cut off by slabs of stone. He could make out something glowing on the other side, shifting and moving, but he couldn’t catch a glimpse of the person holding it.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Albert shouted, stepping around the machine. “We’re from Winterhome. Please, we just want t-”

He-

It-

That wasn’t human-

All Albert could see was a monster, a hulking giant of chitin and claws, shambling around the machine and heading towards them. It was massive, hideous, and wielded something metallic in its arms. Obsidian, alien eyes gazed at Albert, unblinking as it took in the sight of the scout team.

Albert found his hand already at his side, scrambling for his pistol. It had to be somewhere, he never went on missions without it, where was it-

Finally, his fingers latched onto the grip, ripping it out from his holster. Albert raised the weapon, pointing it at the abomination with shaking hands.

“S-stay back! Stay away!” Albert shouted.

The beast didn’t listen. It moved forwards, burning his eyes with the light.

_Why won’t it stop, why won’t it_ stop-

Albert pulled the trigger, trying to aim for the light. Immediately, he almost fell to his knees, his ears burning like lit coals from the sound of the gunshot. Clutching his head, Albert tried to steady himself again, pointing the pistol back at the creature.

It remained motionless, lying on the floor. The light coming from its skull was no longer blinding; now it was merely uncomfortable, the beam now focused toward the ceiling. Stranger still, the source of it was familiar. Another glass bulb filled with luminescent insects, flapping around in what could only be terror. The bulb itself was attached to a steel helmet, dented and worn.

The insect itself was monstrous to look at. Several feet tall, the creature was covered from head to toe in grey carapace. Beady, alien eyes stood out from beneath the helmet, staring sightlessly at him. Just to the right of what may have been its face, a small hole had been punched through the shell, surrounded by jagged chitin. White fluid bubbled and pooled up from the wound, spilling onto its side.

Albert kept his pistol raised. The creature might just be wounded, or unconscious. It might just be disoriented. It had happened with a bear before, bullets grazing its head instead of going through it, stilling long enough for George to approach it-

Another figure rushed up besides him. Albert nearly pointed the gun at it, only to realize that it was Charles, weapon in hand and searching for threats. It took Albert a moment to calm down, trying to breathe through the dust and the gun smoke.

Together, the two of them stared at the creature, weapons at hand, waiting for it to twitch, to move, to do _anything_. It remained still, white fluid pooling on the floor beneath it.

Eventually, Charles gave voice to the only words that could properly describe the situation.

“Oh, _fuck_.”


	5. Hostility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert and Charles try to go home. The locals do their best to keep that from happening.

Albert wanted to wake up.

This whole situation had to be another bad dream. Something else his psyche had thrown at him, another unresolved trauma to fear and ignore. Soon he’d open his eyes and see the tattered fabric of his tent up above him. He could prepare for the day as normal, get dressed, eat breakfast, and forget that this had ever happened.

Because otherwise, he would have to acknowledge that the sight in front of him was real. He would have to recognize that God would allow such creatures to exist, and lead so many of his flock right to their doorstep. Such thoughts were unconscionable. Blasphemous.

And yet, no matter how long he waited, no matter how hard he gripped onto his pistol, the scene remained unchanged. The corpse, the blood, the choking miasma of dust and smoke, the ringing in his ears, all of it remained.

It was real, no matter how badly Albert prayed it wasn’t so.

Charles didn’t seem to feel much better, if his dismayed expression was anything to go by. The man still had his pistol half-raised, inching closer to the creature’s body. He gave the corpse a few nudges with the tip of his boot. The creature shifted slightly, but did not react otherwise.

“…I…I don’t…”

Charles trailed off, mouth agape. He blinked, inhaling deeply, before turning back to Albert.

“It’s a monster. It’s a fucking monster. Oh, Christ…”

He fell silent, covering his eyes with his hand. Albert thought about comforting him but couldn’t find anything to say. His own thoughts were a jumbled mess, trying to make sense of a situation that should have been impossible.

The possibilities were terrifying. How many of these creatures were down here? How long had they been infesting this place? Were they the reason that the ruins had been abandoned?

It was all too easy to imagine what had happened to the previous inhabitants. A group of survivors fleeing the cold and uncovering this cavern, setting up homes and mines, only to uncover monsters living beneath their feet, forced to flee yet again-

Bile rose up in his throat. All this time, they’d thought they were safe down here, that they needed to stay underground. But it was all an illusion. More threats to worry over, more beasts hiding in the shadows beyond their fires.

Then there was the statue. And the graveyard. And the insect lanterns, and the runes, and the idol, and all the other madness infesting this place. What role did they have to play in all of this? Were they somehow related to each other?

And what of the village itself? Were there more creatures waiting between them and those people? Had the village already been overrun?

_Get a hold of yourself,_ Albert thought. _Panicking now will only cause more harm. Focus on what’s in front of you._

Not that the bleeding corpse in front of him was any easier to look at. Still, better to have something concrete to worry about than trying to conjure up new nightmares out of thin air.

Albert took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. That only served to make him keel over, choking on the dust and fumes in the air. It was a small mercy that the scent of blood was absent, instead replaced by a sharp, sickly-sweet smell, more reminiscent of citrus than of copper. Still unpleasant to behold, but lacking that horrible familiarity.

After taking a moment to calm down, Albert glanced back at the body. It was impossible to disregard the alien nature of the creature, but he tried to focus on the equipment it held rather than its corpse. His gaze centered on the pick it wielded; unlike the picks he’d seen toted around Winterhome, this one seemed to be composed of a single piece of steel, sharpened into points at each end. It looked more like a weapon than a tool of industry.

The helmet itself wasn’t that noteworthy at a first glance, merely two pieces of curved steel riveted together. Not much different from the helmets he’d seen carried around back in Winterhome. The only part about it that caught his eye was how snug it was around the creature’s skull, as if it had been designed for it to use.

Then there was the lantern itself. Instead of using a normal lantern, electrical or otherwise, whoever had made it had decided to use more of those glowing insects for illumination. Perhaps that was simply due to a lack of oil or electricity, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the design than he was seeing.

Something about this situation was wrong. Had the equipment been modified at some point? Or…

_No. No, that couldn’t be the case. That’s patently absurd._

But that still left the question of how these creatures had obtained that kind of equipment, or how they possessed the intelligence to utilize them. Were the cavern’s previous inhabitants trying to use these creatures as some sort of labor pool? It was insane, criminally so.

And yet, it was possible that it wasn’t. Just before he’d shot it, the creature had unloaded those crystals onto the conveyor belt. And, given the amount of pink dust nearby, it had probably performed that task several times already. Had someone gone to the effort of training these things to mine? What kind of madman would try that?

Again, the graveyard came back to mind, dozens of tombstones stretching across the peak. If they’d already lost that many people, perhaps they’d been desperate enough to try something as mad as training a new workforce. Winterhome had forced its children to work after the casualties of the uprising. It wouldn’t be far-fetched for others to resort to similar acts under the same conditions.

_Then why didn’t it stop when I told it to? Why did it keep moving towards us? It should have understood my instructions._

And that still left the question of where the overseers were. Or if there were overseers at all, or if these creatures were trusted to work on their own.

It seemed that, if they wanted answers, they still needed to reach that village. Which required traveling through what could be miles of tunnels, each of which could be filled with more monstrosities.

Albert’s eyes glanced back and forth to the different tunnel entrances, half expecting another monster to materialize from around the corner. That gunshot had damn near blown his eardrums out, and he harbored no doubt that the sound would travel throughout the length of the tunnels. If there were more of these creatures down here, they would eventually come and investigate.

“…What do we do now?” Charles asked, in a voice lacking his usual bravado. He had pulled himself together, but the man was clearly still shaken.

“I…I don’t know…” Albert trailed off, feeling uncertainty eat away at him. They could try to push forwards and look for a path to the village. But that left them with the risk of running into more of these creatures, or getting lost underground, or any number of fatal outcomes. Their other option was to return to the ruins and let Winterhome know about what they’d uncovered. They could return later with more men and weapons, but it might also give these creatures more time to prepare.

Albert’s eyes flicked back towards his pistol. They had enough ammunition to last them for a few more encounters, but even with the spare rounds Davis had given them, their supplies would only last them so long. Their weapons were meant for fending off wildlife, not prolonged engagements.

“…Fuck this. I say we head back,” Charles said, glancing around. “I don’t fancy our odds alone down here. Christ knows how many more of these things are waiting for us.”

Albert nodded. All things considered, it was their best option. They would need an army to secure all of these tunnels, and the Captain had the closest thing left to one. And, though it would take reinforcements some time to arrive, they could prepare the ruins in the event the creatures decided to follow them.

Wordlessly, the two men headed back into the first tunnel, both unconsciously glancing back at the corpse as they left. Albert wished they could cover it up with a tarp or a cloth, but neither of them had such materials on hand. It would have been more comforting than letting the creature’s dead, black eyes stare at their backs as they withdrew.

Soon enough, the sharp lights of the chamber had been replaced with the purple glow of the crystals, the tunnel walls tightening around them. It wasn’t a welcoming sight. Albert found himself glancing at every shadow and obstacle, wondering if there were more creatures scurrying around in the darkness. The slight ringing in his ears only served to worsen his paranoia, wondering if it was covering up any sounds of movement nearby.

He found himself glancing at the crates and containers lining the hall, stretching in both directions as far as the eye could see. Some of them were big enough to hide behind. Even the ceiling and walls themselves looked sinister, with dark shadows hiding smaller holes and outcroppings. What if those creatures were smart enough to ambush them? Their pistols would only do so much if they were caught at close range.

_Once we get to the rope, we’re safe. Just climb up, collect the equipment, and head back home,_ Albert thought. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it helped him keep some semblance of calm.

The sound of a pistol being drawn broke Albert out of his thoughts. Looking over, Albert saw Charles staring ahead, weapon at the ready.

“There’s something ahead of us,” he whispered, pointing forwards. Albert followed it, nearly cursing as he made out what was in front of them.

There was another light at the opposite end of the tunnel, shining in the pale white of those insect lanterns. Albert felt a jolt of alarm at that. Something had moved into the other end of the tunnel while they were distracted.

As he looked closer, he realized something else; the light was shaking around, getting brighter. Whatever was carrying it was moving directly towards them.

Albert drew his pistol. Whatever it was, it was blocking their only way out of the mines. There was no choice but confrontation.

They kept moving forwards, and the light did the same, filling the air with a neutral glow. After a few moments, they were close enough to see the beings responsible for said light.

It was a sight that put the previous creature to shame.

Filling out the confines of the tunnel, the beast was nothing short of gargantuan. As broad and tall as a carriage, the beast was terrifying to behold; a hulking mass of plates and muscle, as if it were a train made of flesh and bone instead of steel and bronze. Massive cloth bags hung from its sides, with chunks of purple crystal and ore overflowing within.

_That has to be at least a ton or two of ore it’s carrying. Just how strong is it?_ Albert wondered, trying not to panic.

Another creature walked in front of it, almost identical to the one they’d just shot, leading the massive beast along with a thick cord in one arm and an insect lantern in the other. The moment the creature spotted them, it halted in its tracks, bringing the beast to a stop behind it.

For a moment, neither group moved. Albert and Charles held still, not wanting to incense the creatures in such a confined space. The smaller creature remained silent, slowly gazing between Albert and Charles, while the beast kept motionless. It was the strangest standoff Albert could conceive of, with both parties a stone’s throw away.

But then something happened to the monsters.

All of a sudden, something seemed to shift and change within them. Their postures tensed up, and harsh, pained croaks filled the air. Their eyes, previously pure obsidian, filled with a painful orange glow, like a fire spreading in the night. Immediately, the monsters looked back at Albert and Charles with a new intensity, with terrible focus shining through whatever madness had taken hold of them.

It was a focus that reminded Albert too much of the statue, of the idol, of the lingering fear and confusion he’d felt every morning since arriving in the cavern. His head throbbed, screaming of danger and warmth-

Albert reacted on instinct, firing at the closer threat. The smaller creature went down just as quickly as the first had. His ears still screamed at the sudden noise, but he was better prepared for it now, merely flinching instead of stumbling.

Charles followed suit, firing at the larger creature. The rounds struck the beast’s shell, causing it to crack and chip, but they didn’t appear to wound it. If anything, the monster seemed to be unbothered by their resistance, not even flinching as it was being shot.

The beast began to move forwards, overtaking the smaller creature’s corpse. The beast moved through the obstacle as if it were nothing, continuing forwards at a walking pace. It was trampled underfoot, cracking apart in a burst of shell fragments and white fluid, like an egg breaking against a skillet.

Albert and Charles raised their pistols and fired, aiming for the creature’s body. The rounds impacted the beast, breaking off chunks of bone and chitin, but the beast was undeterred by their attacks. It continued to advance towards them, knocking crates and containers away as it charged. Albert could barely make out the sounds of stone breaking and shattering under the cracks of gunfire, deafening him in the violence.

They were forced to move back towards the chamber, trying to avoid tripping on the rail tracks and debris as they moved. It was a terrifying dance, furtively glancing at where their feet were landing before firing at the beast again. More containers lined the edges of the tunnel, constricting them to the center of the passageway; the beast, massive as it was, had no qualms tearing through everything around it.

Albert fired again and again, hoping to find a spot that was vulnerable. He tried to aim at the creature’s head, but it was protected by an overhanging lip of chitin, deflecting the one shot he’d managed to aim close. The shell cracked, sending shards flying into the creature’s eyes, but it didn’t seem to notice. Albert tried once more, lowering his aim slightly-

-only to be met with a soft click as the weapon failed to fire.

Albert pulled the trigger once more, dumbly hoping that the weapon would work, but was met with more silence. A small part of him wondered if he’d gone deaf from the sound of gunfire. The rest of him watched the beast continue to advance, battered and enraged. Though slow, its advance was inexorable, getting within a few feet of them even as they retreated.

Albert opened the cylinder, tossing out spent cartridges as his empty hand searched for fresh ammunition. His hands shook as he tried to insert the rounds, almost unable to push them into the chambers. Finally, he managed to finish reloading, sliding the cylinder back into place-

-and watched as the beast’s face burst in a spray of white. Immediately, the beast collapsed onto the ground, sliding forwards as it fell. The tunnel echoed with the sounds of chitin scraping against stone, like nails against a chalkboard, tearing at Albert’s hearing in a way the gunfire failed to.

Albert stared for a moment, trying to catch up with what happened. It took him a second to calm down, lowering his gun. After the first time, it was a little easier to get his thoughts in order.

Next to him, he heard Charles give a soft choke of laughter. It felt horribly out of place amidst the smoke and the bodies. “Feel like Saint George after that one,” he chuckled, smiling like a man possessed.

Albert joined in, letting the slightest bit of tension leave his body.

Which was when another creature rushed from the side, pickaxe in hand, and stabbed Charles in the arm.

It happened too quickly to react; the creature had lunged out from behind a nearby crate, leaping at him while they were both distracted. The pick sunk deeply into Charles’ forearm, sticking out through the other side. Charles gave out a choked gasp, stumbling forwards and collapsing on the ground. The creature remained in place, as if stunned that it had succeeded.

Albert didn’t give it time to recover, firing at the creature’s torso. The rounds struck true, sending the creature tumbling backwards onto the ground. Albert spared a glance, making sure it didn’t get up, before rushing over to Charles’ side.

It was a terrible wound. The pick had sunken directly through the right arm, about halfway between his shoulder and his elbow. Everything below the wound was bent at an odd angle, the bone likely broken from the impact. Charles was still conscious, but his focus was solely on his arm, wordlessly screaming as he pried at the pick.

_What the hell do I do now?_ Albert thought, panicking. He had only been taught how to splint broken bones and treat cuts, and now Charles had half a foot of steel through his shoulder. Could he even stop the bleeding if he tried to take the pick out?

Albert glanced around, trying to figure out what to do. The tunnel entrance near the chamber seemed to be getting brighter, illuminated in that terrifying white glow. He could make out the sounds of steel scraping against stone, of demonic chittering and screeching, of more creatures approaching them. More creatures would be upon them soon.

He looked back at the beast’s corpse. It filled up most of the tunnel, but there was still some space around its sides. Just enough for someone to squeeze through, if they were willing to squeeze past the monstrosity’s body.

“Charles? Charles, are you alright?” Albert asked. “We need to move. Can you walk?”

Charles didn’t respond. Albert kept repeating the question, glancing back at the approaching lights. They didn’t have much time.

Finally, Charles started, glancing back at Albert. “I-I…I don’t…maybe…”

It was the best answer he was going to get. Nodding, Albert gripped onto Charles’ uninjured arm, pulling the man to his feet. He was unsteady, nearly stumbling back onto the ground. Albert grabbed onto him, keeping him upright.

“Come on, then, come on. Just need to get past this and we’re home free,” Albert muttered.

Charles nodded. It was an empty motion, with most of his focus on his ruined arm. Even Albert could see that it’d likely need amputating.

_Another thing to worry about later,_ Albert thought. _Got to keep moving!_

Reaching the beast’s corpse, Albert took a look at the gap. It was slightly wider than he’d thought, perhaps a foot at the most narrow. A bit of a tight fit, but more than manageable.

Except there was no way that Charles would be able to make it through there. A quick glance at the pick was enough to show that; it was a good few inches wider than the gap, even without Charles’ arm caught at the end. The only way Charles was going to escape would be to remove the pick.

The sounds of chittering and screeching filled the hallway. He could make out the rotund forms of those creatures further down the tunnel. He would only have a few moments to deal with Charles’ wound.

Cursing at their luck, Albert laid Charles against the ground and stretched the wounded arm out. The floor would have to be their operating table. “I need to get that out of your arm, Charles. Just – just stay still, alright?” Albert asked.

Charles looked at Albert in a manner that screamed of agony and desperation. He nodded.

Albert pulled. Charles screamed. The pick fell out, sliding across the ground in a splatter of blood and bone fragments. Crimson spread across the stone floor, around Charles’ side, too quickly for anyone to survive.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry, everything will be fine,” Albert said to Charles, knowing that it wouldn’t. Charles didn’t respond. His eyes had shut, passed out from the pain and shock. Grabbing his scarf, he wrapped it around the wound, layering it across the injury over and over. The grey wool quickly became soaked in blood, turning dark red. It was the best either of them could do.

With one final knot, the injury was bandaged. It was barely holding in Charles’ blood, and was probably exposing the wound to dust and other contaminants, but it would keep him alive. At least, Albert prayed it would.

Albert risked another glance up. The creatures were nearly upon them, only a few dozen feet away. They needed to hurry.

Grabbing Charles, Albert inched back towards the beast’s corpse. The loose stone and ore on the ground shifted and slid under his feet, making the task all the more arduous. It was all he could do to keep his grip on Charles. All the while, the lights from further down the tunnel only grew brighter, the footsteps getting ever nearer.

Then they made it into the gap, and his goal became even more difficult. Albert managed to fit in easily enough, but Charles needed to be dragged through. Albert found himself shifting Charles around like a puzzle piece, having to twist and turn Charles around to get him to fit.

“Come on, you bastard, work with me,” Albert muttered, yanking at Charles’ shoulders. His hands were slick with sweat and blood, barely letting him grip onto the wounded man. It was a wonder he could grip onto Charles’ shirt at all.

A harsh clanging sound caught Albert’s attention. Glancing up, he saw another pick sticking near Charles’ legs, sticking out of the stone wall. The black-orange eyes of another creature stared at him, fixing him with that terrible glow.

Panic filled Albert’s mind. He renewed his struggles, inching away from the monstrosity, hoping that it wouldn’t catch Charles in a wild swing-

-and finally, with one last tug, they were free. Albert collapsed on the floor, dragging Charles out from the gap with him.

And not a moment too soon. Looking back past the beast’s corpse, Albert could see the first creature try to follow their path, pushing itself into the gap. Thankfully, it became stuck almost immediately, wildly swinging at the two humans. It seemed they would have a few moments before the creatures made it to them.

Albert took a second to breathe. The air was still dusty and rancid, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His lungs forced it down anyways.

Blessedly, safety was within sight. Just a few feet away, Albert could see the hole in the ceiling, the rope still hanging in the air. It was a struggle to get to his feet once more, and an even greater one to move Charles further, but seeing their escape route was enough to give Albert the energy to endure.

Once they reached the rope, Albert looped it around Charles’ chest, taking care to avoid the wound. Doubts filled Albert’s mind, wondering if the rope would support Charles’ weight, fearing that lifting him up like that would only aggravate Charles’ injury. He did his best to ignore them. There was nothing else he could think to do in the heat of the moment.

With the makeshift harness prepared, he looked towards the ceiling. “Davis! _Davis_!” Albert shouted. “Charles is hurt! Pull up the damned rope!”

Moments passed. There was no response. The rope remained still.

_What’s taking him so long?_ Albert worried. He’d been waiting right by the entrance when they’d descended. It should only have taken him a moment to respond.

Albert’s blood ran cold. What if those creatures had gotten to Davis as well? They’d only found the one entrance, but if those beasts had more ways of getting to the peak...

And then, suddenly, the rope shifted. Charles was hoisted into the air, slowly, irregularly. Albert tried to help, grabbing Charles’ legs and hoisting him into the air. It still took too long for comfort, but Charles was lifted into the hole, disappearing as he ascended.

_That’s one of us safe,_ Albert thought, breathing a sigh of relief. _Now I need to wait for my turn._

Albert looked back down the tunnel, keeping his pistol raised. More creatures were following them, climbing around the beast’s corpse as they advanced. They seemed to struggle more than Albert and Charles had, stumbling over the debris and getting stuck on the body. They would get through, but it would take some time.

He glanced back at the other end of the tunnel. More pale white lights appeared in that direction, but with the haze in the air, it was difficult to tell how many of them there were. It didn’t seem like they were growing closer, but after the last ambush, Albert was reluctant to take his eyes off them.

After what felt like hours of waiting and watching, the rope descended once more. Albert holstered his pistol, grabbing onto the rope and pulling himself upwards. His arms screamed at him, already worn out from the day’s labors. Albert tried to focus on the ceiling instead, watching salvation approach an arm’s length at a time.

His ascent became easier once he made it into the ceiling. The hole had just enough room for him to use his legs to climb, and even without footholds, the stone was rough enough for his boots to grip on.

He was caught off guard when a light shone down on him. For one moment, he feared that those creatures had gotten ahead of him after all, waiting for him to trap himself. Then his eyes adjusted, seeing that the light was the harsh yellow of an arc lantern instead of the soft white of an insect lantern.

Davis looked down at him with a nervous expression. His pistol was pointed down at Albert, but when he saw who was approaching, quickly moved it away. Reaching down, Davis grabbed Albert’s arm and helped pull him out of the hole. The dark, open mountaintop felt like a blessing after so much time in the tunnels.

Turning back towards the entrance, Albert pulled up the rope. There was surprisingly little resistance. He had feared that some of the creatures would try to climb up after them, but it appeared that they had been too slow. The only thing clinging onto the end was Charles’ blood, splattered across the coarse material.

Albert took the moment to breathe, letting the harsh breeze wash over him. His hands trembled in front of his eyes, and his legs weren’t much better off. The desperate energy that had driven him to safety seemed to vanish, replaced by an all-consuming exhaustion.

A few feet away, Davis was kneeling besides Charles, pressing a wad of cloth onto the wounded arm. The man’s composure hadn’t quite cracked, but it was shaken. Davis’ eyes were just too wide, his breath just too quick to be normal.

Charles was worse off. The man’s complexion had turned horrifically pale and clammy, more reminiscent of an uncooked turkey than of a human being. Charles’ eyes were glossy and unseeing, threatening to shut at any moment.

They couldn’t remain in the graveyard. If Charles was going to live, they needed to get him to a doctor immediately.

Albert leaned down, grabbing Charles under his uninjured arm. Davis followed suit with the injured one. Together, the two of them lifted him up, preparing for the long trek down the mountain.

All Albert could do was pray that they hadn’t just unleashed a new curse upon Winterhome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't sure how clear the fight against the Glimback was. I'm hoping it wasn't too awkward!


	6. Cold Homes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmond contends with a failing Generator and news from the cavern.

The Generator had failed again.

Without a warning, the great furnace had seized and stilled. The massive pistons of the machine locked into place, crashing into the thermal hulls with a tremendous clamour, while clouds of steam spilled out across Trafalgar Square. Lights around the city had gone out nearly immediately, and the heating had followed suit. Soon enough, almost all of Winterhome had fallen silent.

The following hours were a blur of rushed orders, arguments, and frostbite as they tried to restore the great furnace. Supplies and materials were moved as quickly as they could from the warehouses, though the ice and snow covering the streets proved to be a burden without the heating pipes to clear them. Some, in the confusion, thought that Winterhome was being abandoned entirely, adding further to the chaos.

Edmond had found himself working long into the night, organizing the distribution of emergency coal and food rations, coordinating equipment and supply transfers with the repair teams, and trying to maintain some degree of productivity in affected workplaces. It was all he could do to keep Winterhome from spiraling into panic. Everyone needed reassurances that the Generator would turn back on, and with the endless forms and orders to handle, Edmond could only spare the time to offer a few brief words of comfort and faith. If he hadn’t been so focused on the work, he might have fallen into despair himself.

Finally, by the early hours of the morning, it seemed that they’d managed to handle the worst of the crisis. The Generator remained quiet, but they’d come up with some workarounds to deal with the problems it had caused. Coal furnaces and arc lanterns were blazing throughout the night to try and fight temperatures of almost fifty below. A handful of steam cores had been turned into portable generators, restoring some functionality to essential workplaces. It was a crude system, but one that would allow Winterhome to survive an extra day or two.

There was only one more item to check on before Edmond could get some rest: the Generator itself. Once the machine was back up and running, they’d be able to calm the city’s residents and resume preparations for the evacuation.

As such, Edmond and the head engineer, Richard Marsh, ended up sitting in his office, looking over the Generator’s blueprints and trying to make sense of what had been damaged. Abandoned mugs of water sat next to note-covered papers and annotated blueprints. Far too many markings covered the designs, like scars on an amputee.

Edmond pored over one particular blueprint, trying to make sense of the lower sections of the Generator. Though he had some experience in heating systems, most of that was from work with automatons, not from systems the likes of this. “And you’re certain that this was what caused the malfunction?”

“As best we can figure, sir,” Richard replied. He looked exhausted, with dark bags under his eyes and a slumped posture. Hours of work on the repairs were already taking their toll. “We’re working on a temporary fix now. It’ll be touch and go once we’re finished, but it should last us another week of regular use. Maybe more if we’re lucky.”

“…That’s it?” Edmond asked, concerned. That would only give them enough time to launch two more evacuation convoys. That would still leave hundreds of people trapped in the city the next time the Generator shut down.

“It could’ve been much worse, sir. If the fractures kept spreading, the damage could’ve torn the tower pumps apart. As it stands, we’ve just got to patch up the pressure regulators and check the substructure for more faults. We’re doing the best we can,” Richard replied, shrugging.

“And how long will it take to implement these repairs?” Edmond asked.

“Difficult to say, sir. The Generator will probably be ready to run again in about half a day, at the earliest,” Richard said.

Edmond frowned. “That long? Is there any way we can speed up the repairs?”

Richard shook his head. “We’re doing what we can, sir, but we’re not miracle workers. Unless you can spare us some more men-”

“Whatever you need. Engineers, materials, tools, anything, just get it done,” Edmond said. “Even if it’s just a few hours, we need to cut down as much time as we can.” Without the Generator up and running, it wasn’t like those men and materials were being productive anyways.

Richard looked pensive at that. Edmond knew exactly why. Rushing the repairs as they were would only risk making further emergencies involving the Generator worse.

But they couldn’t just leave their people in the cold, either. There wasn’t enough room in the remaining bunkhouses to fit everyone, and without heating, it was only a matter of time until those left in tents would start to freeze. Blankets and stoves weren’t enough to fight such brutal temperatures.

“They’re not going to be pleased with all this extra work. Not when they’re already dealing with the extended hours,” Richard said. “Some of the men are running on fumes at this point. If we keep going at this pace, it’s only a matter of time until someone falls off the scaffolding from exhaustion.”

“I’m aware. Just…give them an extra ration of moonshine. That should help keep their spirits up,” Edmond sighed.

Richard raised an eyebrow. Edmond tried to avoid his look. Admittedly, offering alcohol to a group of exhausted technicians wasn’t the smartest choice, but there weren’t many other options available to him. Spiritual guidance could only do so much to satisfy worldly needs. Nobody would turn down an extra glass or two of the drink, even if it did hurt Edmond’s sensibilities to encourage the habit.

“…I’m not giving the men alcohol while they’re working, but I’ll see what I can do,” Richard eventually said.

“That’s all I’m asking of you,” Edmond said. “Thank you.”

With that dismissal, Richard gathered his documents and left the room. Edmond was left alone, staring at the mountain of forms covering his desk, trying to ignore the hum of the radiator in the corner. He was fortunate; the old army outpost had a spare generator in the basement, providing power to the building’s communications, lighting, and heating equipment.

And yet, all it seemed to do was replace the biting cold with a festering sense of guilt and shame. How many people were freezing in their homes while he sat in comfort? How many more would lose fingers or limbs to frostbite?

_ We’re doing what we can,  _ Edmond thought.  _ Once we get to the cavern, it’ll all be fine. No more cold, no more wind, no more blackouts. _

Edmond groaned, leaning over onto his desk. Papers scattered onto the floor as he sprawled over, trying to find the energy to get up. These days it felt like he was working more overtime shifts as the Captain than he had back when the Major was around.

Even without the Generator to consider, an increasing amount of his time was being spent looking over the plans for the cavern. The supply transfers had been received well, and most people were having no trouble moving into or replacing the old tents. But there was still the industry and ventilation to consider.

The former was an easier problem to solve. While losing the Generator would be problematic, they had enough steam cores to ensure that they could continue production of most essential materials on site. Supplies that they couldn’t obtain locally, such as timber, could be imported from outposts. It would be awkward, but they would be able to rebuild.

As for the latter, Edmond found himself concerned. While the air quality in the caverns was abnormally clean, it would only be a matter of time before pollutants from their fires threatened to render the new settlement inhospitable. He’d ordered a search of the workshops to see if some of the old, pre-Frost blueprints might provide any options. In the meantime, all he could do was wait and pray, two activities which he’d become quite familiar with as of late.

Perhaps it was time to get some rest. His spare cot had been placed in one of the corners of the room, as comfortable as old military gear could get. The thought of getting a few hours of sleep before the next emergency was a tempting one.

Before he could make good on that idea, the office door opened. Denise walked inside, her jacket and trousers coated in a light layer of frost. A pile of papers was tucked under one arm as she approached. She quickly deposited it on his desk before stepping away. Edmond couldn’t help but notice she had moved in the direction of the radiator.

“There you go, sir. New scouting reports from the cavern have arrived.” Denise stated, somewhat out of breath.

Edmond relaxed a fraction. At least some of their operations were going according to plan. Perhaps the reports would make for good bedside reading. “They’ve made it up the cliffside, I take it?”

“Yes. It’s just that…well, it’s quite the story.”

Edmond raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“The scouting trip didn’t go quite as well as we’d hoped. One of the scouts was injured during the expedition, and they said that…” Denise hesitated, eventually shaking her head. “To be frank, there’s really no way I can describe it without sounding like I’ve gone mental. You’ll just have to read the report for yourself.”

That was…concerning. Extremely so. What could have happened to make her say something like that?

Hesitantly, Edmond reached for the papers. The folder was surprisingly thick for a trip that had started yesterday. Opening the cover, he began to peruse its contents.

Initially, the report was encouraging. Discovering that there was a village further in the cavern, and one that appeared to be inhabited at that, helped lift Edmond’s spirits. The graveyard and shrine, while less useful, could provide an excellent staging area for future exploration.

And then he flipped the page and read about what could only be described as a madman’s ramblings.

Abandoned mineshafts with strange machinery?  _ Man-sized insects? _ And said insects causing a man to lose his arm? The further he read, the more he felt like he was reading a penny dreadful written by an asylum patient. By the end, Edmond found himself rubbing his temples, trying to will away another headache.

“…They can’t be serious.” Edmond eventually said.

“They’re refusing to give another answer. Only one of them seemed doubtful of the story, but it seems he was left behind in the graveyard while the others scouted ahead,” Denise shrugged. “He did confirm hearing gunfire and something crashing in the tunnels, but he didn’t see these creatures himself.”

Edmond sighed. “And what about the one that’s been hurt?”

“They’ve started treating him, but he’s in bad shape. No chance he’s keeping the arm, and he’s lost a lot of blood on top of that.”

“Will he make it?”

“It’s unclear. They’ve managed to stabilize him, but I’m not certain they have the equipment to deal with those kinds of injuries over there. The one thing he’s got going for him is that the wound isn’t infected.”

And, considering the environment that man had been injured in, the risk of gangrene setting in was significant. Edmond made a mental note to add a few replacements to that scout team. He should have taken care of that after the first incident, but…

_ One scout team isn’t much of a priority compared to a whole city, _ Edmond sighed. It wasn’t fair to those men that he’d held that attitude, but with the production quotas, generator status updates, and evacuation plans to pay attention to, he wasn’t left with much time to think of anything else. Winterhome demanded much, even in its death throes.

While he’d heed the medical report, Edmond still found himself doubtful about the rest of the report. None of the scouting teams had lied to him thus far, as far as he knew, but a story like that was just too fantastical to take at face value.

Yet he couldn’t just ignore their story either. These were the men who found the cavern in the first place. The least he could do was listen to what they had to say. He’d have to send more men up to verify their story later, but he wouldn’t take them for liars.

Which left him with conflicted thoughts over a problem that he could never have predicted. What was he supposed to make of these new creatures? Were they a serious threat? Did they need to begin fortifying the caverns? They had already crippled one man. What was to say they wouldn’t do worse in the future?

But there were also the resources in those mines to consider. While he wasn’t sure what to make of the crystals being found, the reports of iron ore were promising. If they were going to properly winterproof the cavern, they would need as much steel as they could get their hands on.

“Let’s look over the evacuation schedule again. Perhaps we should switch out a few crates of coal for rifles and explosives,” Edmond eventually said.

If it turned out that the threat was significant, then those weapons should be enough to beef up their defenses. If not, then they could use the guns to set up a hunters’ hut on site and the explosives to begin preparations for mining operations near the mountain. Either way, it wouldn’t be that terrible of an expenditure. Winterhome had more firearms than he knew what to do with, and the coal mines didn’t need as many explosives now that operations were being scaled down.

One of the benefits of living on an army base was that there was no shortage of weapons. It was easier to appreciate that fact now that said weapons weren’t being pointed at him.

“I’ll get those sorted out later,” Denise said, jotting down a note. “Any specifics on how we should hand them out?”

“I’m not completely certain, to be honest,” Edmond sighed. Distributing those weapons would be a difficult problem to solve. Nobody would take kindly to him setting up a militia or guard posts so soon after the uprising. Memories of the Home Guard were still fresh, as were the scars caused by them.

Edmond took another look at the evacuation schedule. So far, they had been mostly successful in following the original plan. The construction teams were all on-site, and they were making good progress on transporting the children and infirm. Next on the docket were some of the coal miners, steelworkers, and whatever family members could be spared from their labors.

With the information from the new scouting reports, however, Edmond found himself wondering if that was still the optimal selection. Self-defense hadn’t been a factor to consider when he’d first drafted the plans, and if these creatures were a threat to their new home, then it would be best to address that before disaster struck.

“We could always reassign some of the hunters to act as security,” Denise said. “They’re already familiar with those weapons, so training wouldn’t be an issue.”

“I’m not sure the food stockpiles could handle that,” Edmond muttered. While they had enough rations to keep Winterhome from starving, it was a closer margin than he would like. They needed venison just as badly as they needed to protect the cavern.

The turncoats were an option, albeit an unpalatable one. They’d been of great help during the uprising, spreading false orders and confusion throughout the Guard’s ranks, but not many people were willing to trust former members of the Major’s regime. If he started handing them weapons, it could easily send the wrong message.

It was an issue he’d have to sleep over. They wouldn’t be able to recharge the sleds for the evacuation convoy until the Generator was restored, and every item and person sent over needed careful consideration.

In the meantime, there was still the village to think about. Confirmation of other survivors within the caverns was wonderful news, but it also presented further difficulties. Trying to reach the village the report had mentioned would be an endeavor in itself, even if he chose to discount the supposed monsters in their way. The scout teams would either have to scale down a mountain, with even heavier winds accosting them along the way, or they’d have to traverse an entire mining complex, all the while being on the lookout for potential enemies.

_ Surely there must be a better way, _ Edmond thought. _ Is there anything we can use to shorten the trip? _

He remembered a blueprint he’d seen before his brief stay in Newgate Prison. One of the hunters had sketched it out on the back of their map, saying something about how the Royal Society had used scouting balloons to explore the Frostlands in the early days. It had never gone anywhere, courtesy of the Major’s mismanagement, but the blueprints could still be around.

_ That could work, _ Edmond mused. _ We’d have to move more equipment over, set up a system for electrolysis near the site…might need to treat some more tarps… _

But it would be quite a bit easier than trying to descend a mountain in pitch-black conditions or having to engage in tunnel warfare. Likely faster as well. They’d need to develop the system further for meaningful trade and transport, but it would serve their purposes well in setting up a line of communications.

Not that he’d be able to implement a system like that any time soon. Moving that kind of equipment up a mountain would require cargo lifts, transport rails for men and freight, communications equipment, fuel pumps and storage…it would be quite the undertaking. Those resources would be worth the investment eventually, but he would need to focus on the mines first-

“Edmond? Are you still there?” Denise asked.

Edmond started, flinching. For a moment, he’d forgotten she was still in the room. “S-sorry. Just got lost in my thoughts.”

Denise sighed, crossing her arms. “That’s why I keep telling you to get some rest. It’s not good for you to keep drifting off like that.”

Edmond looked at his lap, trying not to feel like a schoolchild that had been caught napping in class. For a moment, the room was filled with awkward silence.

“...As soon as this mess is over, I’m dragging you to the pub.” Denise finally said.

Edward frowned. Was...was she threatening him? With a  _ break _ ? “I’m not sure-”

“You can’t stop me.”

“But the work-”

“Won’t be as bad once everything’s up and running again. Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve had a proper night out?” Denise asked, raising an eyebrow.

Edmond couldn’t remember. Most of his memories since taking up office were a blur of exhaustion and frustration. But still, it couldn’t have been that long. “A week or two?”

Denise shook her head, sighing. “A whole month. A whole month of you sitting in that chair from day in to day out. We could both use a break.”

“...I can’t argue with that. Fine, but only once this mess is sorted out.” Edmond said. A whole evening with good food and good company certainly sounded heavenly at that moment. If only the pub was actually operational at that moment.

“I suppose I won’t get any better than that,” Denise shrugged. “In the meantime, for everyone’s sake, get some sleep. It won’t do if you burn yourself out along with the Generator.”

Edmond nodded, too tired to argue. He didn’t expect to get a full night’s rest, not with all the projects he needed to oversee, but he could manage a few hours. Perhaps he’d even make it to dawn before someone woke him up.

“In that case, I’ll get to work on the weapons shipment,” Denise said, reluctantly stepping away from the radiator. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Denise,” Edmond said.

As Denise left, Edmond looked back down at the forms on his desk. The lines were blurry and difficult to read through the haze of his exhaustion. From what he could make out, they were mostly over non-critical issues. It was all work that would be better done with a fresh mind.

The crisis had already been addressed. For the moment, there was nothing else he could do besides getting some sleep and hoping that the city remained standing when he woke up.

Standing up and stretching, Edmond moved over to the cot. The steel frame dug into his spine, and the fabric was fraying around the edges. He climbed in gratefully, knowing it was one of the most comfortable beds in Winterhome at the moment.

It was all too easy to close his eyes and drift off, falling into a dreamless slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to do a crossover with Hollow Knight for a little while now, but had to decide between a couple ideas. Out of a choice between We Happy Few, Metro 2033, and Frostpunk, Frostpunk won out. Still not sure if this was the best way to go about it, but hopefully it'll all work out!


End file.
